I Library of Congress. 1 



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^2%) UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 

9-167 §|fe 



DISCOURSES 



CHIEFLY ON DEVOTIONAL SUBJECTS, 

BY THE LATE REVEREND 

NEW CO ME CAPPE. 

TO WHICH ARE PREFIXED 

MEMOIRS OF HIS LIFE, 

% CATHARINE CAPPE. 

WITH AN APPENDIX, 

Containing a SERMON preached at the interment of the 
author, by the Rev. William Wood. 

ALSO 

A SERMON on occasion of the death of Robert Cappe, M. D. 
with memoirs of his life, by the Rev. C. Well beloved. 

<f HE BEING DEAD YET SPEAKETH," 



. YORK: 

Printed by T. Wilson and R. Spence, High-Ousegate, 
For J. Johnson", St. PauPfc Church- Yard, and 
J. Mawman, Poultry, London ; and sold by the Booksellers 
of York, Leeds, &c. 

1305. , 



\ 



To the Congregation 



OF PROTESTANT DISSENTERS 
In St. Saviour g ate y — York, 

MY FRIENDS, 

I AM persuaded that I could not render you a 
more acceptable service than by publishing a se- 
lection. o£ Sermon^ which, some of you will re- 
member to have heard with delight, and which 
ail of you, I doubt not, will peruse with interest, 
and, as I hope, with lasting advantage. 

To you, in a more especial manner, your late 
honoured Pastor yet speaks. — He conjures you 
to be indeed cc a peculiar people zealous of good 
works " not distinguished so much from others, 
by difference of speculative opinion, as by strict 
integrity of principle, by candour towards all ■ by 
that charity, " which suffereth long and is kind;'' 
by the exemplary purity of your hearts, and the 
active usefulness of your lives.— He exhorts you 
to aspire after perfect holiness— not alone for your 
own sakes, but that in you, " the truth as it is in 
Jesus," may shine forth and be glorified. 

A 2 



2V DEDICATION. 

My friends ! when we look back upon the 
years that are gone, and reflect upon the many 
neglected opportunities of greater improvement, 
that are for ever fled away with them ; surely we 
must be seriously solicitous to " strengthen the 
things which remain." We are still a favoured 
people and though I am not permitted to speak 
of the talents, the virtues, and other eminent en- 
dowments of our present Minister, your own 
hearts will testify \ and with them I rest the 
appeal. 

Possessed of such advantages, ought we to 
remain " even as others ?" Let us, my friends, 
be studious to abound more and more in every 
good word and work. Let us live, as those 
ought to live, who are hereafter to render an ac- 
count, so that when frC the days of the years of 
44 our pilgrimage are over/' we may celebrate an 
eternal triumph over sin, and sorrow, and in- 
firmity, and be found worthy to join in " the 
'* song of Moses the servant of God, and in the 
<? song of the Lamb," for ever and ever! 

Your sincere friend, 

Catharine Cappe, 

York, Mm n f iw. 



PREFACE, 



It has always been my wish to select some of Mr, 
Cappe's Sermons for publication. Proceeding from the 
heart, I have thought they would reach the heart ; and I 
have indulged the pleasing hope that there are those who 
would not only read them with interest, but who would 
seriously endeavour to imbibe the principles, and to feel 
the sentiments of piety they contain, and strive daily, like 
the Preacher, to approach nearer, and still nearer, to- 
wards Christian perfection. In this hope I may be de- 
ceived ; but it has cheered many a lonely hour, and 
having so strongly felt its influence, I should not have 
done my duty if I had neglected to adopt the mode of 
conduct, suggested by it. • 

I am not, however, so visionary as to imagine, that 
the sentiments of the public respecting the merit of these 
Sermons, or even the sentiments of persons whose turn 
of mind may be somewhat congenial, should keep pace 
with my own. I well know, that striking and elevating 
as are the views they exhibit of the power and goodness 
of God, and of the unspeakable importance of culti- 
vating right affections towards him— animated and pa- 
thetic as is the strain of feeling with which they abound., 
they cannot be associated in the minds of others with the 



VI PREFACE, 

impressive manner, the persuasive tones, the simple 
piety, which so exceedingly increase their interest with 
those who heard the Preacher, and who loved him, and 
which to their minds so forcibly recall his image, that 
scarcely can they persuade themselves, he is not still 
speaking! I should think, however, that independent of 
every thing extrinsic, they must have sufficient internal 
merit to recommend them. It is true, indeed, that a 
spirit of devotion is not the spirit of the times ; yet' 
some persons, surely there are, who wish to discrimi- 
nate accurately between sterling piety, which leads to 
every thing great, and noble, and consolatorj', and that 
wild enthusiam which erringly assumes its honoured 
name — some, who would wish to keep strictly within 
the boundary beyond which, pleasure, even innocent 
pleasure, assumes a different character — to persons 
such as these, the Sermons here presented to them, can- 
not be without their value. 

The Prayers added by the Editor, although taken from 
Mr. Cappe's, yet as their present connexion and ar- 
rangement could not be his, any defects in these respects, 
if such there are, cannot attach to him. 

In the Memoirs annexed to this volume, there are 
considerable additions made to those which were pre- 
fixed to the Critical Dissertations published in 1802, and 
the long quotations then given from the Sermons 
preached by Mr. Cappe on his recovery from a nervous 
fever in 1782, also from those on the love of God, are 

1 



PREFACE. 



VII 



here wholly omitted, as the Discourses themselves form, 
a part of this selection. The Editor has availed herself 
of Mr. Wood's kind permission to annex the Sermon 
preached by him at the funeral of the deceased, as a 
powerful independent testimony of the talents and vir- 
tues she has endeavoured to portray. 

She has doubted much respecting the propriety of 
adding Memoirs of the late Dr. Robert Cappe, to a vo- 
lume of his father's Sermons ; but to those who have 
been interested in the life of the one, no apology will 
probably be necessary for adding some particulars re- 
specting the life of the other. — He' was indeed a young 
man of great hopes and expectations, and his friend, 
Mr. Weilbeloved, in his interesting Memoir and Ser- 
mon, which he has permitted to be here annexed, has 
not at all exaggerated the general sensation excited in 
the city and neighbourhood of York, by his lamented 
death. 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR *, 



Memoirs of persons who were eminent for 
talents, learning, virtue, and piety, cannot fail of 
being interesting to all who feel any solicitude 
about their own improvement, any wish to at- 
tain that degree of excellence, to which, even ia 
this imperfect state, this dawn of intellectual life 
the human mind has in numerous instances been 
found capable of arriving. It is with the ardent 
wish of stimulating others, "to strive after things 
" that are excellent," that the Editor of the fol- 
lowing Discourses republishes with some addi- 
tions, what, on a former occasion she had laid 
before the public respecting the character of ihe 
preacher : to gain celebrity to his memory^ were 



* Memoirs of Mr. Cappe were originally prefixed by the 
Editor to two volumes of his Critical Dissertations ; but as ii is 
hoped that a volume of Devotional Sermons may interest many 
who will never see the former publication, she has ventured to 
prefix them, with some additions, to the present, 

b 



x Life of the Author^ 

she equal to the attempt, would not be an object 
of her desire : When living, he sought not the 
praise of men ; and now, if he w r ere conscious 
of what is passing in this lower world, their praise 
or neglect would be to him a matter of no mo- 
ment ; — less than the shadow of a shade. 

Newcome Cappe, the eldest of six children, 
three of whom died in their infancy, was born 
at Leeds, in Yorkshire, February the 21st, 1732-3. 
His father, the Rev. Joseph Cappe, many years 
minister of the dissenting congregation at Mill- 
hill Chapel in that town, was a person of great 
learning, liberality, and piety ; eminently skilled 
in the oriental languages, and highly popular in 
the discharge of his ministerial functions. It was 
his custom to preach without notes for many 
years, owing to the following circumstance : 
Happening one day, on a visit to a distant con- 
gregation, to forget his sermon, he was obliged 
to deliver it from memory, and finding that he 
succeeded in the effort, although he continued 
always to pre-compose his sermons, he never 
afterwards committed them to paper : hence at 
his death scarcely any vestiges of them remained, 
except what were engraven on the hearts of a 



Life of the Author. xi 

numerous, an attentive, and an affectionate con* 
gregation. 

A striking proof of the high veneration in 
which he was held, has accidentally fallen into 
my hands. A respectable member of his con- 
gregation, who had taken notes of some of his 
sermons, and afterwards transcribed them for his 
own use, gave evening lectures from them many 
years after his death ; some of which are now 
before me, and are prefaced in the following re- 
markable manner : a If, in the course of my 
" reading, any thing occurs that may fall beneath 
<c that true greatness, and dignity of sentiment, 
" with which that worthy gentleman, the Re- 
" verend Joseph Cappe, used to deliver his ser- 
£f mons, you will please to keep this one thing 
" in your thoughts, that what I read was trans- 
" cribed from characters, and only designed for 
" private use." He married the daughter, and 
one of the coheiresses of Mr. Newcome of Wad- 
dington, in Lincolnshire, a gentleman of con- 
siderable property, and great respectability of 
character. Their son showed early marks of that 
genius, and extraordinary application to study, 
which afterwards marked his character : at six 
years of age, he had made considerable progress 

b2 



Life of the Author. 

in the Latin language; and while he was" yet 
very young, he was so attentive an hearer of the 
preaching of his reverend father, that he was fre- 
quently asked by him on a Sunday morning, 
where his Discourse the preceding Sunday had 
been discontinued ; it being his practice, as it 
was afterwards that of his son, to continue the 
investigation of the same subject through a long 
series of Discourses. 

The immediate subject of these Memoirs, at 
this period, was in the habit of rising at four in 
the morning, that he might read his lessons, un- 
disturbed by the family. This he did in winter 
by the kitchen fire, which, in that part of the 
country, it is customary to keep in all night; and 
when summer approached, and the weather al- 
lowed, it was his delight to take his book for 
the same purpose, and sit among the ruins of 
Kirkstall Abbey, situated about three miles from 
Leeds, on the banks of the river Aire. The 
picturesque scenery which he there enjoyed, aided 
by the impressive solemnity of the surrounding 
objects, contributed, no doubt, to cultivate and 
improve that fine taste for the beauties of nature, 
that high relish for the grand and sublime, which 
formed ever after a distinguished part of his cha- 



Life of the Author. xiii 

racter, and of which, it is apprehended, many 
instances will appear in the following Discourses : 
Scenery like this it w T as ever his delight to con- 
template ; and to rise " from Nature, up to Na- 
ture's God." 

His excellent father died of a fever at the age 
of forty-eight ; an event which made an impres- 
sion on his mind, never afterwards to be effaced. 
'It was suggested to Mrs. Cappe, soon after this 
afflictive stroke, by a particular friend, that the 
uncommon talents, and extraordinary diligence of 
her son, then in his sixteenth year, would un- 
doubtedly procure him the patronage of Dr. Seeker, 
at that time bishop of Oxford, and rector of St. 
James's, (afterwards archbishop of Canterbury,) 
if he were introduced to him 3 which, it was 
urged, could easily be accomplished; a connexion 
already subsisting between the two families, in 
consequence of an inter-marriage. On this sub- 
ject she consulted her son ; but although not in- 
sensible to the splendour of the prospect which 
might by this means have opened upon him, he 
did not hesitate to decline the proposal, knowing 
that the bishop's patronage could not be obtained 
without conforming to the establishment ; a step 
uch he believed would be inimical to that 

bS 



t\v Life of the. Author. 

unfettered research into religious truth, which, 
even then, was a pursuit more congenial to his 
mind, than objects of ambition, or worldly ag- 
grandisement. He w r as placed by his mother, in 
the same year, (1748,) with Mr. afterwards Dr. 
Aikin, at Kibworth in Leicestershire, where he 
remained one year ; a period on which he always 
looked back with peculiar satisfaction. Here 
he began, in earnest, that intellectual career in 
which he so much delighted : he had a high 
respect for his tutor, by whom he was much dis- 
tinguished, and had great pleasure in observing 
many early indications of those talents in Mrs. 
Barbauld, the daughter of Dr. Aikin, then four 
years of age, which have since obtained the ge- 
neral suffrage. The reader may not be displeased 
with the following specimen. 

The tutor and his pupil conversing during a 
morning's walk on the subject of the passions, 
they were called to dinner before the conversa- 
tion ended. When they were seated, the Doctor 
continued the subject : " You see, therefore, Sir, 
?£ that joy, accurately defined, cannot have place 
" in a state of perfect felicity ; for joy, supposes 
" an accession of happines." " I think you are 
et mistaken, papa," exclaimed a little voice from 

2 



Life of the Author. xv 

the opposite side of the table : " Why do you 
"think so, Leetitia?" "Because, papa, in the 
" chapter I read to you this morning in the 
"Testament, it is said there is more joy in heaven 
" over one sinner that repenteth, than over 
" ninety-nine just persons that need no re- 
" pentance." 

From Kibworth, Mr. Cappe was removed to 
Northampton, where he continued to make great 
progress in literature, under the celebrated Dr. 
Doddridge; of which the writer of these Memoirs, 
occupied in the melancholy employment of re- 
viewing a box of letters, written many of them 
by departed friends, accidentally met with the 
following testimony, in a letter to Mrs. Cappe, 
then residing at Leeds, dated Northampton, 
June 8, 1750. 

" Dear Madam, 
" It is highly fit, that when my much esteemed 
" pupil and friend returns to you, to spend the 
" vacation at home, he should bear along with 
" him that testimonial to his excellent character, 
" and exemplary behaviour, which he has so long 
" deserved. 1 therefore beg leave to assure you, 
* that I cannot recollect I ever had a pupil un4er 



iivi Life of the Author . 

6< my care, whose genius and capacity exceeded 
(f his, and few have equalled him in a close and 
" steady application to business. His distinguished 
" talents have been adorned with the modesty of 
" his behaviour and sweetness of his temper ; and 
" he has still conducted himself, so as to preserve 
" the Christian character, and to encourage my 
" hopes of eminent usefulness under the mini- 
Cf sterial. I cannot but congratulate you, dear 
<f Madam, on the agreeable prospect you have 
M in him, and most earnestly pray, that God may 
" spare his life and yours, and so establish the 
" health of both, that you may long see him very 
" useful in the church, and may see the life of 
u the worthy father, continued in that of the son. 

" P. Do dp RIDGE." 

Daring the three years Mr. Cappe spent at 
Northampton, some doubts arose in his mind re- 
specting the evidences of Christianity ; and feel- 
ing it impossible to engage in the ministry, if these 
doubts should continue, he determined to in- 
vestigate the subject in the most impartial man- 
ner. For this purpose he read carefully the 
writings of the French an4 English Deists, weigh- 
ing, as he went along, their several objections. 



Life of the Author. xvxi 

the greater part of which appeared to him to be 
levelled, not against the Christianity of the scrip- 
tures/ although these writers might conceive them 
so to be, but against the additions and corrup- 
tions which in the lapse of ages have, from time 
to time, been added to it. How often have I 
heard him rejoice and triumph in the final result ! 
a firm persuasion, never afterwards shaken, that 
the gospel of Christ, is indeed the truth of God ! 
It struck his mind, however, even then, and he 
w r as afterwards fully confirmed in the opinion, 
that its great value consisted, not in any set of 
metaphysical doctrines, but in a plain exhibition 
of important facts, by means of which, to adopt 
the highly figurative, but strikingly energetic 
language of an Apostle, " we are begotten again 
to a lively hope, by the resurrection of our Lord 
Jesus Christ from the dead y that fe as he lives* 
so we shall live also \' r an exhibition fully ade- 
quate to supply the most powerful motives " to 
perfect holiness, in the fear, and love of God," 

During the time he spent at Northampton, 
Mr, Cappe composed a short-hand for himself, on 
principles wholly dissimilar to those generally in 
use, and remarkable for its neatness and brevity. 
This short-hand he afterwards constantly used : 



xviit Life of the Author, 

lie made a grammar of it ; but not having taught 
it to any of his pupils, it is probable that the far 
greater part (if not the whole) of his valuable la- 
bours would have been lost after his decease, had 
he not latterly been prevailed upon to dictate 
from it to a transcriber. 

The high opinion which Dr. Doddridge had 
formed of the talents, disposition, and attainments 
of his pupil, was still farther evinced by him in 
the summer of 1751, a little before the time when 
it was expedient, on account of his own declin- 
ing state of health, to try the efficacy of a warmer 
climate. Having been desired to recommend an 
assistant preacher to the celebrated Dr. Chandler, 
at the Old Jewry in London, he fixed upon 
Mr. Cappe, then only in his nineteenth year, and 
recommended him so strongly, that he was invit- 
ed to accept the situation, one of the greatest re- 
spectability and importance amongst the dissen- 
ters. This offer, it was imagined, could not be 
withstood - y but the laborious student, who did 
not so highly appreciate his own attainments, had 
set his heart upon going to Glasgow, where the 
late excellent Dr. Leechman then filled the theo- 
logical chair ; where there was at that -time a 
constellation of eminent men, and where he 



Life of the Author. xix 

hoped to render himself better qualified for the 
important discharge of ministerial duties, than it 
was likely he ever migbt be, if he engaged in 
them prematurely. Soon after this, Dr. Dod- 
dridge went to Bristol, and from thence to Lis- 
bon, where he died of a consumption in Novem- 
ber following, universally beloved and lamented, 
Mr. Cappe remained at Northampton during the 
remainder of the session, under Mr. Samuel 
Clarke ; and, in the year 1752, his desire of re- 
moving to Glasgow was gratified. 

A person who is at all in the habit of 
" marking the current of events/' carf scarcely 
avoid here, making a moment's pause. — -That a 
youth of an ingenious reflecting 1 mind, who had 
been carefully educated by sucfta father, should 
not accede to the proposition of putting himself 
under patronage which must have been followed 
by a total dereliction of early principle, is not 
very wonderful. But, when an offer was made 
of a situation highly flattering and advantageous, 
which required no such sacrifice, how pure and 
ardent must have been that thirst after know- 
ledge which could lead to the rejection of it! — • 
Yet, upon this single circumstance, did all the 
future events of Mr. Cappe's life depend. Had 



xx Life of the Author. 

he gone at so early a period to have been the 
assistant minister with Dr. Chandler, to a Lon- 
don congregation, who can say, after such an 

- 

introduction, to what celebrity he might after- 
wards have attained ? But the motives for 
his refusal being right, it was never, whilst he 
lived, the subject of a moment's regret that he did 
not accept the situation : and now, having finish- 
ed his course well, what a subject of thankfulness 
will it for ever be, that the station allotted him 
by providence, and acquiesced in with his own 
free and cheerful consent ; whatever, at the time, 
were its privations, its trials and its difficulties, 
should have been no other than precisely what it 
was !■ — For who, on looking back on a tempes- 
tuous sea, full of rocks and quicksands, which 
they have passed successfully, would not revere 
and bless the pilot by whose wisdom and care 
they had been conducted in safety, by whatever 
course, <c unto their desired haven 1" 

It is remarkable, that although Mr. Cappe 
spent three yeaxs-at Northampton, distant only 
sixty-six miles from the metropolis, which, in 
common with other young men, he wished to 
visit;- stimulated also, as I have often heard him 



Life of the Author, xxi 

say, by an ardent desire of hearing the celebrated 
Dr„ Sherlock, and of seeing the performance of the 
no less celebrated Mr. Garrick, both at that time 
in the 'zenith of their fame 5 yet he never once 
made an excursion to London. He had previously 
formed a determined resolution* that no tempta- 
tion should lead him to relax his studies ; and he 
also considered it as a duty he owed his mo- 
ther, and remaining brother and sister, (who at 
the death of their father were not left in affluence,) 
to persevere as he had begun, in a plan of the 
strictest economy. 

At Glasgow Mr. Cappe continued three years, 
pursuing his studies with such unremitting ar- 
dour, that he seldom allowed himself more than 
four or five hours sleep, in the twenty-four. A 
consumption had nearly been the consequence, 
from which he was preserved, under the blessing 
of Providence, by the friendly care and judicious 
treatment of the great Dr. Cujlen, then a profes- 
sor in that college,, Happy in the successful 
career of intellectual pursuits; in the cordial 
esteem of Dr. Leechman, Principal of the college ; 
in the society of many amiable and ingenious 
fellow-students, a few of whom still survive ; in 
the friendship of the different professors, the late 



x xii Life of the A uthor. 

Dr. Adam Smith, Dr. Moore, (esteemed the most 
eminent Greek scholar in Europe,) and the late 
Dr. Black, notwithstanding the pressure of an 
habitual head-ach, the days and weeks flew ra- 
pidly away. And here, one cannot but remark, 
that if to a mind thus constituted, the pleasure 
arising from intellectual and virtuous progress be 
so exquisite, even in this present state of imper- 
fection and infirmity, what must be the triumph, 
(to quote a passage from some of his manuscript 
sermons on Christian perfection, now before me,) 
when we are arrived in those nobler mansions of 
our Father's house, " where our acquisitions shall 
* c be made, if not without exertion, yet without 
Sl painful exertion, with ease and with delight ; 
es where there shall be no mixture of evil with our 
tfC good, of error with our knowledge, of discontent 
* c with our satisfaction, but all our virtues and all 
f* our enjoyments shall be for ever pure, for ever 
" lively ; fearing no decline, experiencing no 
* £ languor, but proceeding, without interruption 
** and without allay, nearer and still nearer to the 
£< blessedness and holiness of God." 

The reader of sensibility will forgive me for in- 
serting the following extract from the letter of a 
venerable minister of the gospel yet living, the 



Life of the Author. xxiii 

feJlow student, and intimate friend of Mr. Cappe 
both at Northampton and Glasgow, after re- 
ceiving a copy of his Memoirs in August 1802, 

<c I opened the parcel with reverence, and held 
<c its sacred contents to my view with an awe pes- 
<c culiar to such occasions. But when I traced 
<c the many thoughts it suggested of former times 
" and occurrences^ when my friend and I walked 
(( together in our youthful and college days, not 
" only without one anxiety or painful care, but, 
" I will say to you, without one sinful indulgence 
" even for a moment j happy in the cultivation of 
<c useful knowledge, and of every virtuous and 
" pious disposition ; you will readily conceive 
" how the image of my loved companion reno- 
" vated my delightful feelings.— -How it led me 
" from walk to walk, and poured occurrences 
"one after another upon my joyful recollection. 
" And I am thankful to say, that even now, in 
<c my 75th year, I not only clearly review, but 
" deeply feel my own sensations. Ours was 
" then, and always continued to be, a religion 
** that lifted the heart to God ; that spread moral 
" sentiments over the whole mind, and moral 
cc virtues over the whole life. Supported by the 
" divine doctrine and promises of the gospel, our 



xxiy Lijfe of the Author. 

" religion disdained and defied every temptation 
<4 to immorality the world could put before us. 

" — I do not mean by all this to boast." " But 

" X could not forbear writing the above, on this 
" pressing occasion, in honour of my deceased 
" friend, and brother, and in order to express my 
i£ thankfulness for the benefit of a sound and good 
" education ; for being taught; even from child- 
€l hood, amidst all the diversity of speculative 
(: opinions, and in due depreciation of them, to 
" attend to the practical religion of the heart and 

" life, as the one thing needful." " I love re- 

cc trospection, especially when I can take it with 
cs a virtuous and religious fellow traveller who 

* e lived with me in former times." " My friend 

<c and I entertained no doubt of recognizing each 
u other in a future state."—" The dead are not 
€C perished, we were accustomed to say to each 
" other as we conversed in our chambers, or 
<f walked in the fields $ they must live for ever, 
" and- thus we usually closed our discussions, 

4£ about the world to come." " This hope still 

ci remains, we were intimate and cordial 
tC friends at Northampton, we- were as much or 
i( more so at Glasgow, and I trust we shall be 
" most of all so in a much better and more ex- 



Life of the Author. xxv 

" alted state, where every good thing, both mora! 
" and intellectual, will be improving for ever." 

Here, we cannot but remark, that, if we may 
trust the united testimony of these virtuous and 
amiable fellow students, and why should they 
wish to deceive us ? they had even in their youth- 
ful days abundantly more true enjoyment, than 
the unprincipled pursuers of licentious pleasure. 
And should such a character, in spite of his 
criminal excesses, attain like the writers of the 
above, to the advanced age of threescore and 
fifteen years, and accident throw in his way the 
memoirs of a wretched partaker in his youth- 
ful crimes, the seducer of unwary innocence 
who had brought down, it may be, many a hoary 
head, with sorrow to the grave — with what sen- 
sations would the narrative be perused? Would 
they sooth and cheer his own rapid descent, to 
" the dark and narrow house ?" — But he has lost, 
perhaps, all sense of moral feeling. — Hardened 
in the ways of wickedness, his mind is reconciled 
to the gloomy and abject hope of annihilation. — > 
But what, if the peradventure should occur to 
him, that death may not so terminate, that he and 
his abandoned companions may meet again ? 
Would any one wish to inflict, upon his bitterest 
enemy, a punishment more severe, than the mere 
horror of such a possibility ? 

c 



xxvi Lift of the Author. 

Mr. Cappe left Glasgow in May 1755 ; and in 
the November following, on the death of Mr. 
Root, was chosen co-pastor with Mr. Hotham of 
the dissenting chapel in St. Saviourgate, York ; 
and, on the death of Mr. Hotham, the beginning 
of the ensuing year, (May 26, 1756,) he was or- 
dained sole pastor; in which situation he ever 
afterwards remained. Of his talents as a preacher, 
his ardent desire that his hearers might not only 
understand the principles of their religion, but 
feel its power upon their hearts, and exemplify 
its efficacy to Others, in the holiness of their lives, 
the reader will be enabled to form some estimate 
from the volume of Sermons now before him. 

His first publication, a sermon preached in No- 
vember 1757, on the victory of Rosbach, gained 
by the great Frederic of Prussia, happening to 
coincide with the national feelings of that day, 
was received with an enthusiasm seldom equalled. 
It was taken up by the leading political charac- 
ters, and passed through thirteen editions with 
great rapidity. Some of these editions were in- 
stantly bought by persons of the first eminence, 
and sold at reduced prices at their own expense, 
in order to promote the general circulation. 
The late John Lee, Esq. then of Lincoln's Inn. 



Life of the Author. xx vii 

and afterwards Attorney-general, during the ad- 
ministration of Lord Rockingham, in a letter 
now before me, passes the highest encomiums on 
this Discourse, which he says was the universal 
topic of conversation and of praise ; and then 
adds : " Of the multitude of readers that London 
" has afforded you, and several of taste and in- 
" genuity I have known, not one of them has 
,<c been sparing of the highest praise they could 
" bestow \ and you will not be offended with the 
" compliment of Lord Ligonier, who, after 
" reading it last Sunday, said, he thought Mr. 
f 6 Cappe preached as well as the King of Prussia 
« fought." 

Of the manner of this sermon, I shall give the 
following short specimen : u It is Providence 
<c that displays to us the most astonishing, the 
" grandest, and the fairest views of the divine 
" perfections : It is Providence that pleads, with 
" the most powerful persuasion, the cause of vir- 
" tue and religion : It is Providence that enlivens 
" us in the praise of God, that banishes all fear 
" from our love of him, and all doubt from our 
" confidence in his government. The giddy 
" overlook her ; the busy are deaf unto her voice. 
iC Happy he 5 who ; sometimes retiring from the 

c 2 



xxviii Life of the Author. 

" throng and the noise of life, stands as it were- 
" at a distance, an undisturbed spectator of its 
" events. He sees the hand of God moving and 
" directing the vast machine. He hears the 
ct voice of Providence, like that which John in 
" vision heard, as the voice of a great multitude, 
" and as the voice of many waters, and as the 
<s voice of many thunderings, saying Alleluia, for 1 
" the Lord God Almighty and all-gracious 
" reigneth." 

Celebrity like this might well have intoxicated 
the mind of a young author ; that it did not, in 
this instance, produce any such consequence, the 
reader may probably be prepared to expect. So 
far, indeed, in the middle and later periods of 
life, was Mr. Cappe from thinking or speaking 
of this sermon with pleasure, that he never called 
it by any other denomination, than that of my 
folly. His mind was sensibly pained with the 
reflexion, that in a moment of youthful ardour, 
he should have appeared as an advocate for em- 
ploying the sword in defence of religious truth : 
being fully persuaded that true Christianity is 
wholly inimical to such an appeal ; that its ge- 
nuine conquests are those of the heart ; and that 
e< the wrath of man worketh not the righteousness 
of GocV' 



Life of the Author. xxix 

In October 1759, Mr. Cappe married the eldest 
daughter of Mr. William Turner, merchant in 
Hull ; in whose amiable society he passed 
thirteen years of much happiness, although tried 
by many disappointments and heavy afflictions. 
Among these were some considerable pecuniary 
losses, occasioned by the failure in trade of two 
near relatives; their subsequent sickness, and 
death, under his own roof ; the loss of two in- 
fant children ; and, last of all, the declining state 
of Mrs. Cappe's health. She lingered more than 
two years, and then died, of a consumption, in 
the spring of 1773, leaving him with six young 
children. 

Of the temper of mind with which he sustained 
these afflictions, the most honourable, and, to the 
eye of friendship, the most soothing testimony 
remains, in a series of Discourses from which 
three are selected in this volume, and which 
were composed by him when under their severest 
pressure, from the exhortation of the Apostle 
Paul to his Philippian converts, then suffering 
under persecution : " Be careful for nothing, but 
" in every thing, by prayer and supplication, 
" with thanksgiving, let your requests be made 
" known unto God." 



xxx Life of the Author. 

-During this period also, Mr. Cappe incurred 
the loss of the Rev. Edward Sandercock ; a friend 
whom he highly estemed ; whose amiable and 
enlightened mind gave peculiar interest to the 
social hour ; and whose kind assistance, in his 
weekly ministerial labours, saved him many an 
exertion, which frequent indisposition, or family 
misfortune,, would have rendered oppressive. 

This gentleman died in January 1770, in the 
sixty-ninth year of his age. The last tribute of 
respect and affection was paid by his friend, in 
an address spoken at his grave, and in a sermon 
delivered afterwards to a very numerous audi- 
ence ; both of which were published by general 
desire, but are now out of print*. From the ad- 
dress, I shall give the following extract. 

* Of the last moments of this excellent person, I meet with the 
following account in Mr. Cappe's hand-writing, in a pocket- 
book: "Having thought that I saw in him the symptoms of 
£t instant death, I sat down at the head of the bed, and for some 
" minutes expected every breath to be his last: perceiving, how- 
et ever, that he grew rather better, I administered to him a little 
< c of his cordial, and he presently revised, so far as to call to me 
<£ on my sitting down again, — 'Mr. Cappe.' I rose, and an- 
'« swered. '« Sir . ? ' He looked as if he would say something : 
" finding that he did not, I asked, « Would you have a little 
* f more of your cordial 1 No,'— I waited some time, in expects- 



Life of the A uthor. x x x i 

« To the earth, we have committed all that 
" was earthly of a Christian brother, of a faithful 
" minister, of a much esteemed and well-beloved 
" friend. There, we haye left, in that land of 
" silence and forgetfulness, all that remains in 
" this world, of one, concerning whom, your 
" heart-felt grief, on this occasion, testifies that 
" you numbered him among the wisest, the 
" worthiest, the most devout, the most friendly, 
" and the most amiable of mankind. How 
" different in this day, from those happy days, 
" gone to return no more, when with him we 
" were accustomed to take sweet counsel to- 
<c gether, and walked to this house of God in 
" company ! How different is this season, from 
" those happy seasons, gone to return no more, 

" tion that he would speak to me, and then asked, * Would yon 
"have any thing else?' 'No/ — I waited still some time,, per- 
" suaded that he had something to utter; but fearing that it 
" might slip from him, after a little pause, I asked^-What would 
" you have, Sir ?' ' My good friend, farewell/ I could stand no 
" longer ; but by and by, finding him attempting to speak again, 
" I rose, and stood leaning over him: he seemed to be pleased 
" with the attention that was given to him, and said to me, in a 
" broken voice, and interrupted sentences, * I am now satisfied that 
" in these scenes of death there is nothing irreconcileable with tijis-. 
" moral perceptions, (meaning, undoubtedlyjperfections of G*od— 

C 4 



sxxii Life of the Author. 

" when his devotion, animated our devotions 
Sf here, and his lips distilled wisdom ! How 

" I suffer-— I have many consolations — I hope I shall have pa- 
< s tience to the end — the end is not far.* He prayed to God to 
" bless me, my children, and all my family. He then recom- 
* f mended Mrs. Sandercock and all her friends to God ; and im- 
4< mediately afterwards, addressing himself to me, desired she 
" might know that he was very thankful for all her kindness to 
" him ; and expressed his hope that she would consider it as what 
" she owed in gratitude to God, to bear a short separation with 
" resignation and cheerfulness, for she had still many mercies to 
" be thankful for. ' Now,' said he, ' my good friend, you may 
*' sit down : if it were not for this oppression, I could sleep.' He 
" did fall asleep almost immediately, and slept for a considerable 
es time with great tranquillity." 

A neat marble monument was erected to his memory in the 
chapel in St. Saviourgate, in York, by his widow. The inscrip- 
tion, written by Mr. Cappe, is as follows: 

To the memory 
Of the Reverend Edward Sandercock, 
An able and faithful Minister of Jesus Christ. 
Devoted to his Master's service, 
He pursued it, and delighted in it, 
Till he dy'd. 

Let this monumental Marble remind those who heard him, 
How his private virtues illustrated and enforced his public teaching?, 
And engage them to be followers of him, 
As he was of Christ. 

Two volumes of sermons, written by this gentleman, were after- 
wards published by Mr. Cappe. 



Life of the Author, xx xiti 

« different the dead, from the living friend ! 
* c How different this house of God, which once 
" was his exceeding joy, from the house that he 
" now inhabiteth ! Yet that, my friends, is the 
" house appointed for all the living. There, you, 
iC by and by, must make your bed. Great as the 
" difference is between the living and the dead ; 
" that change must pass on you. There is a 
cc day, at what distance no man knows, but every 
" man will acknowledge, that it may be very 
" near, when our places shall be vacant, both in 
" God's house, and in our own ; when the tears 
" of friendship shall bedew our clay-cold 
€S bodies ; when our funeral shall pass along the 
" streets ; and the gazing multitude shall be 
" gathered round our open graves. What think 
<e you of these scenes ? Is there nothing serious 
ie in them ? Is there nothing important after 
<£ them ? Are you ready for them ? Are you fit 
* ff for death ? Are you prepared for judgment ? 
" Are you provided for eternity ? Is it certain 
££ that you are ?— From my heart I rejoice with 
" you, for death cannot hurt, though he Jay his 
u hand on you to night. Nay, it would be bet- 
" ter with you than it is, if you were sleeping by 
" our faithful friend. The living may apostatize 



- xxxiv Life of the Author. 

se from the paths of virtue ; but to those who are 
ce dead in Christ, who have continued patient in 
" well-doing to the end, all that heaven means, 
6( and all that God has promised, is secure. 
" Watch and pray, be faithful and devout, 
£e preserve your virtue, dispatch your work, 
iC improve your talents, for blessed are those 
4C servants whom their Lord when he cometh 
" shall find watching." 

In the year 1771, a literary club was instituted 
in York, of which Mr. Cappe was the planner, 
if not the first proposer, and which was kept up 
nearly twenty years. It consisted originally of 
seven members, Dr. Swainston, the Rev. Dr. AI- 
lanson, chaplain to the House of Commons, the 
Rev. Mr. Howlett, the Rev. Mr. Tiilard, rector 
of Wirksworth in Derbyshire, George Lloyd, Esq. 
Mr. John Hotham, nephew of the late minister, 
and Mr. Cappe : Dr. Hunter, Henry Goodricke, 
Esq. Dr. White, and Mr. Cappe's eldest son, 
were afterwards admitted members. The num- 
ber was limited to nine ; and as vacancies hap- 
pened, the places were supplied. 

The members of the club met in rotation at 
each others' houses, every Wednesday at five 
o'clock 5 when, according to the rules they had 



Life, of the Author, xxxv 

agreed upon, a given subject was discussed ; 
which must have been proposed and approved 
the preceding Wednesday, and entered in a book 
kept for the purpose. The discussion was to be 
conducted in the way of inquiry, rather than de- 
bate; every member to contribute whatever might 
be his information or discovery respecting it, to the 
general stock of knowledge. They had no other 
refreshment than coffee and tea | and the club 
broke up precisely at nine o'clock. 

I shall select a few of the questions proposed 
by Mr. Cappe, by way of specimen, 

" What judgment ought to be formed of the 
" conduct of Abauchas, in the story told of him 
u towards the end of Lucian's Texaris ?" 

ee What are the rights of man over the animal 
* e creation, and what the principles by which 
cc they are limited ?" 

" The senses of taste and smell ; their connec- 
" tion ; and the final causes of both." 

" The human stature, its varieties, the limits 
" of those varieties, and the efficient and final 
" causes of those varieties, and of their lirnita- 
" tions.' 3 

<c The discovery of the polarity of the magnet, 
tc and the fruits and consequences of that dis- 
" co very," 



xxxvi Life of the Author. 

" The influence of diet, considered in respect 
" of quantity as well as quality of the food, both 
" upon the bodily constitution, and the mental 
" powers and dispositions/* 

" The influence of a great and growing capital 
'* on the manners and prosperity of a nation." 

" The origin of sea-salt, and the uses of it." 

" The powers and pleasures of imagination. 
<* Do they not decline in the progress of life ? 
" And of that decline, what are the efficient 
44 and final causes ?" 

cs The character of Mahomet : Was he a fana- 
u tic, or an impostor ?" 

c< The true sense of Aristotle's definition of the 
" end of tragedy/' 

u The art of writing ; the modes, materials, 
" and instruments of it; and the consequences of 
*' this invention." 

" The annual changes that take place in some 
cc species of the animal creation ; their efficient 
" and final causes." 

" Contagion of diseases : Its nature, extent, 
6£ efficient, and final causes." 

fic Lavater's physiognomy." 
The infancy of mankind compared with that 
" of other animals." 



Life of the Author. xxvii 

<s Different modes of disposing of the dead 
" bodies of mankind." 

" Comparative merits of natural and civil his- 
" tory, considered as two distinct sources of en- 
" tertainment and improvement" 

" The connection between the colour of vege- 
" table bodies and other sensible qualities ; and 
" the dependence of both, on light." 

" English juries." 

" The proper subjects of music." 

" What advantages are derived or may be de« 
" rived to man from the faculties of the brute 
" creation ?" 

<c Variety of seasons, compared with the uni- 
" formity of them, in respect to the influence of 
" each on the health, the comfort, and the talents 
" of mankind." 

" Comparison of the denal and duodenal arith- 
" metic." 

" Migration of fishes." 

" The mode of inflicting capital punishments." 

" The condition of old people, in respect of 
" sight, before the discovery of dioptric glasses." 

" Is it consistent with good policy to permit 
" the perpetual and unlimited accumulation of 
" charitable donations and bequests?" . 



x xxviii Life of the Author, 

« c Culinary salt, the origin, the use, and the 
" need of it to men and other animals." 

"In what respects are the indications of nature 
€C to be the rule of human conduct, and how are 
€f these indications to be discovered and inter- 
<f preted ? 

cc Of the real use of the knowledge of medals, 
<c and other such monuments of antiquity.'* 

The close of the year 1773 was rendered pe- 
culiarly interesting to the writer of these memoirs, 
by the resignation of the vicarage of Catterick, 
in Yorkshire, on motives purely conscientious, 
by her highly-honoured and esteemed friend, the 
Rev. Theophilus Lindsey, the successor of her 
father in that benefice. Of that gentleman, so 
well known to the world, and happily still living, 
it may not be permitted her to speak ; but that 
such a character, in circumstances of peculiar 
difficulty and distress ; distress, of which no one 
who is not acquainted with all the circumstances 
whence it arose, and who was not present during 
the scene, can form an adequate idea : that such 
a character should have been rudely attacked, at 
such a time, in the public papers, is an instance 
of human depravity hardly to be credited. But 



Life of the Author. xxxis 

what is too malignant for a bigot, without piety ? 
to attempt ? 

The attack was made, by a dignitary of the 
church *, in the York Chronicle of January 28, 
1774, under the signature of " Erasmus," This 
attack, illiberal and abusive in the extreme, was 
repelled, in a very spirited and masterly way. 
by Mr. Cappe, who showed on this, and on a 
few other occasions, that, when powerfully ex- 
cited in defence of integrity and truth, he did 
not less excel on subjects that led to controversy, 
than in other compositions better suited to his 
habits and his taste. His first reply was signed 
" A Lover of Good Men," and introduced by the 
following quotation from some printed sermons 
of Dr. Cooper's, taken as a motto : Cf An alacrity 
" in calumniating, is one of those abominable 
u qualities which the devil himself possesses in 
*' an eminent degree; he is called the Adversary ? 
" the Hater, the Accuser of the brethren." Dis- 
courses by William Cooper, M. A. 1766, p. 80, 
So high was the esteem in which Mr, Lindsey 

* The late Dr= Cooper, rector of Kirby whiske, and archdeacon 
of York. 



xl Life of the Author. 

was held, and so general the indignation excited 
by this virulent attack, that no less than four 
different replies to it, from different pens, under 
the. signatures of " A Layman," " A Parishioner/' 
"Pro Amico,'* and " Martin/' appeared in the 
Chronicle of the following week. There was also 
a paper signed " Philo Erasmus," meant as a 
reply to the " Lover of good Men " in which the 
writer, (Erasmus himself,) denominates his un- 
known antagonist " a doughty champion," who, 
he tells the editor, " is horridly encumbered with 
" his heavy armour." The signature of " Doughty 
"Champion," therefore, was humourously adopted 
by Mr. Cappe, in his subsequent replies to " Philo 
"Erasmus," "Timothy Quick Eye," and "Bucer," 
the signatures of Dr. Cooper. A variety of 
other writers, many of them persons unknown, 
came forward, on the defensive, in the course of 
the controversy, under the various signatures of 
" Apicius Secundus," " David Simple," " Emlyn 
"junior," Admonircr, " Biblicus," "Thomas 
"Stave, the Parish Clerk," " Disconsolate Mark," 
" One of the People," &c. &c. The " Doughty 
" Champion," however, continued to hold the 
first place, and " Erasmus" was at length com- 



Life of the Author, xli 

pletely driven off the field, beyond the possibility 
of return *• 

It was on this occasion, that the writer of these 
Memoirs became first acquainted with the subject 
of them, and that the foundation was laid, of that 
friendship, which although death may interrupt, 
it cannot destroy ; and which, she humbly trusts, 
will be renewed and perfected, where "there 
"shall be no more death, neither sorrow nor 
" tears," and " where God himself shall be for 
tc ever present." 

During this year, (1774,) Mr. Cappe was af- 
flicted by a distressing and alarming complaint 
For some months every object appeared double, 
which obliged him to wear spectacles, with one 
of the glasses darkened ; he persevered, however, 
in his ministerial, and other labours ; although it 
may well be imagined that the exertion was not 
easy. 

* Towards the conclusion of the controversy, the following 
epigram was sent to the editor of the newspaper by an unknown 
hand: 

" Sore beaten and bruised, hear, the Doctor cries out, 
" What means all this rage, all this riot and rout? 
*• What offence at Erasmus, that down he must fall, 
" Examine, you'll find, he said— Nothing at all/* 



xln " Life of the Author, 

In the August of nf6, he had the affliction of 
"burying his mother, who died in this city, in the 
seventy-sixth year of her age : she was a person; 
of great virtue, and exemplary piety. After this- 
event, his sister came to live with him ; and to 
her kind attention, and affectionate care, his young 
family were under the greatest obligation. 

Early in the year 1771, Mr, Cappe published 
a sermon,, preached on the 13th of the preceding 
December > a day set apart for a general fiast r 
during the American war. This sermon^ not be- 
ing equally in unison with the national prejudices 
of the day, was not fitted, like that on the victory 
of the King of Prussia, to become the theme of 
general praise : But, in the judgment of the truly 
discerning, it raised his character, as a preacher, 
to the irst eminence. It quickly went through 
two editions y and the highest encomiums were 
passed upon it by men of great celebrity. In a 
letter now before me. dated April 28, 1777, Mr. 
Lee speaks of this sermon in the following terms : 
< ; Sir George Savile, happening to call on me a 
t£ fortnight since, on a Sunday morning, I showed 
" him your sermon,, and read him several parts of 
<c it. He was delighted beyond measure with it* 
(i insisted on taking it away with him, and ex- 
64 pressed some astonishment that he had not be- 



Life of the Author. xliii 

" fore heard a great deal of it : I have seen him 
(S frequently since, and he has never failed re- 
" peating his admiration, in terms that do him 
" and ycu equal honour. He sent to Johnson 
" for seven or eight copies, but none are to be 
" had ; and he was strongly disposed to take a 
" liberty with you, by giving orders to print a 
cc new edition of it, without your knowledge. 
" He has shown my copy to many eminent men, 
(C particularly to Mr. Burke, who dining with me 
<( the other day, told me that he concurred in Sir 
<£ George's opinion of the performance. It has 
6e been read by many in the house of Commons 
" and last night the Duke of Portland sent me a 
" card, to desire I would give him an opportunity 
6C of reading it, I had no other but that which 
<c you were so obliging as to send me ; but I 
(( borrowed one of Mr. Lindsey, and sent it to 
cc his Grace, who, I since find, had such a taste 
" of part of it from Sir George Savile, as gave him 
" an eager longing for the rest. Perhaps this 
cc may produce no other consequence than that 
" of introducing you to the acquaintance of Sir 
cc G. Savile, whose company, I think,, you will 
cc like, and exciting a desire in some other 
" eminent men, who will find it more difficult to 

d2 



xliv Life of the Author, 

" come at you than he will, unless next year you 
" will do me the favour to visit us here, which 
" I much wish " 

As this Sermon has long been out of print, 
and as some of my readers may be gratified 
by seeing a specimen of what was so highly 
praised by these eminent persons, I shall subjoin 
the following extracts. 

" If to be Christians in name would support 
£C our hope, there were little need of this day's 
" humiliations : But if to give success to .our 
" prayers it be needful that we be Christians in- 
<c deed and in truth, however you may speak 
" peace to your own souls, T know no warrant to 
" justify your security and confidence : For, tell 
" me, though we rank among the first of Christ- 
" ian countries, is the character of this country 
" Christian ? To what could you appeal in 
" support of that assertion ? 

" Would you alledge in proof of it, that we 
<£ have learnt to call the vilest vices by the softest 
<e names ? that intemperance is exalted into soci- 
" ality ; lewdness, into gaiety ; adultery, into gal- 
" iantry 5 profaneness and obscenity, into vivacity 
c, and spirit ; frivolousness, into fashionableness, 
(< and hypocrisy into politeness ? Would you pro- 
" duce in proof of it that we have learnt to 



Life of the Author* 



xlv 



u call the noblest virtues by the most ignominious 
" appellations ? that devotion, is enthusiasm; that 
" conscientiousness, is scrupulosity; that integrity, 
" is obstinacy; 1 that non-conformity to fashionable . 
cc though unreasonable opinions, and to polite 
" though immoral practices, is superstition, 
" weakness, and preciseness ? Are these the 
" proofs of our Christianity ? 

" Will you go into our streets and thence col- 
se lect the evidences of intemperance, sensuality, 
€< and profaneness, which will not fail very soon 
" to meet you there ? — Will you go into the 
" scenes of mercantile and commercial life, and 
" thence collect the selfish projects, the ordinary 
" deceptions, the authorised frauds, the syste- 
<c matic over-reachings which tradition not reason, 
*-* which custom not religion, have sanctified ? 
<c will you thence collect the instances of those 
" who, hastening to be rich, have fallen into 
" divers snares ; who, impatient of poverty, of 
cc mediocrity, of inferior affluence, through the 
u instigation of avarice or ambition, have from day 
" to day adventured, and at length accomplished, 
" the ruin of many other families as well as of 
" their own ? — Will you go into the scenes of 
cc public entertainment, and there, in the most 
" innocent of such scenes^ observe a sight con- 

d3 



xlvi Life of the Author. 

sc spicuous ' indeed to the serious, eye, the 
<c ministers of luxury and vanity, the panders of 
" an outrageous appetite for pleasure, more 
ee punctually met, more freely attended, and, al- 
" most beyond credit, more liberally rewarded 
" than the ministers of virtue, the instructors of 
" youth, and the dispensers of the bread of life*? 
cc Will your change the scenes of public enter- 
<f tainment for the scenes of public devotion, will 
" you there collect the giddy crowds who go 
<c thither for no better purposes than those which 
<c carry them to every other concourse ? will you 
" there collect the formalist whose religion rests 
<( in the hearing of the word and the praying of 
" the prayer ? — W'ill you quit these public scenes 
" for scenes more retired and domestic ? will you 
" thence collect the uninteresting, insipid, unedi- 
" fying conversation ? will you there observe how 

* We will not inquire how far this animated delineation of na- 
tional character, is applicable to the present times. Let those 
decide who have seen the accounts in the public papers, of the 
crowds which have followed the young Roscius, (as he is deno- 
minated) of the sums of money which have been lavished upon 
him ; and of the very extraordinary anxiety manifested when he 
was ill, bearing out the absurdity of issuing forth a daily bulletin; 
ss if the fate of Europe, had depended upon his recovery ! 

Editor, 



Life of the Author. xlvii 

ce fast time flows, and how folly flows as fast ? will 
** you observe how seldom the bounds of in- 
" nocence are kept ; how commonly such assem- 
<( blies are erected into uncandid and iniquitous 
" tribunals., where the practices, the manners., the 
" customs, the conduct of others, as innocent as 
i( our owiij are tried by our own prejudices, and 
<s by that test condemned ; where the affairs of 
cc others occupy an officious concern,, while our 
€C own most important affairs, both in company 
ct and in solitude, are neglected ; in such scenes 

Will you observe how often some absent cha~ 
" racter is sacrificed to pride, to self-conceit, to 
fC malignity and ill-will. — From these less public, 
ff will you go into still more private scenes of 
* c life ? Will you inquire into the government of 
" servants ; into the education of children : will 
* c will you produce me some evidence of our 
" Christianity from these ? — -If servants serve their 

masters, what care is there whether they serve 
if c God or not? if children are accomplished, 
£' what care is there whether they be good ? 

" Education is not formed against the world, 
f but for it ; not to arm us against temptations, 
f* but to betray us to them.— To live, to shine, 
¥ these are the objects of education, which sel- 

d "i 



xiviii Life of the Author. 

cc dom rises higher, in one half of the world, than 
cc the attainment of some mechanic or some li- 
" beral art ; and in the other half, than the ac- 
f* quisition of external accomplishments. To live 
" well, unblameabJy, laudably, and usefully ; to 
€e be adorned with the true beauty of universal 
" unaffected virtue ; to shine in the solid glories 
cf of pure and undefiled religion, is this the object 
sc of the many? their object for themselves ? their 
" object for their children ? — Are the houses of 
" their fathers to the rising generation the schools 
" of piety, of self-government, of sober-minded- 
" ness ? Alas, here it is that they first learn to 
" neglect their Creator, and to neglect their 
" souls. Here it is that they first imbibe the 
" principles of frivolism, of vanity, of extra- 
" vagance. Here it is that they learn to make 
" amusement the end of life. Here it is that thev 
<c early receive those impressions, and acquire 
" those habits which preclude the possibility of 
€C acquiring a taste for real pleasure, and a capa- 
" city of solid worth. Here it is that they learn 
" to seek for happiness from abroad, to go abroad 
ee in quest of it, and to fetch it in, as they expect, 
sc from every thing that smiles and glitters in the 
" eye of vain imagination. Here it is that they 
~ ; "V 2 



Life of the Author. xlix 

ff learn to admire what is not admirable, to love 
F5 what is not lovely, to dread what is not dread- 
" ful, to place the point of honour where it can- 
ff not stand, to laugh at those things which 
cc are not ridiculous, to make light of that which 
" is very serious, and to trifle with those things 
ff that are dangerous as firebrands, arrows, and 
ff death." 

At the time when Mr. Lee's letter was written 
which I have quoted above, he was become the 
leading counsel on the northern circuit, and was 
considered as being in the high road to the first 
preferments. His invitation to his friend, to visit 
the metropolis, was constantly repeated by him 
every year, accompanied by inducements the 
most flattering ; but he never could draw him 
thither. This might in part be owing to Mr. 
Cappe being left with a young family, to whom 
he was tenderly attached, and whose welfare 
claimed from him unceasing attention ; to 
his having engaged in the education of a few 
pupils ; and to his ministerial connexion in this 
city, from the duties of which he never absented 
himself without great reluctance. A cause, how- 
ever, no less powerful, might probably be found* 
in his own peculiar turn of mind, Reserved, 



I Life of the Author. 

modest, unambitious, bis first solicitude was faith- 
fully to discbarge every duty, and his greatest 
pleasure to meditate on the works and on the 
word of God. Eminently skilled in the classic 
writers of Greece and Rome, in the Hebrew, 
and in the Hellenistic Greek, it was his supreme 
delight to study the scriptures in their original 
languages : to consider the modes, customs, prin- 
ciples, and prejudices which prevailed when the 
gospel was first preached : the actual state, both of 
the Jewish and heathen world, at the time when 
ihe several books of the New Testament were writ- 
ten : the effects which were manifestly produced 
upon the minds of all, by the continuance of mira- 
culous powers among the first believers, until the 
destruction of the Jewish polity ; and the appeal 
which was constantly made by these writers to 
this fact : to contemplate the character, the situa- 
tion, the views, and the phraseology, both of 
the friends and enemies of the gospel : to enter 
Into the sublime ideas, and to imbibe the hea- 
venly temper of its Author : carefully to com- 
pare scripture with scripture: and from these 
various sources to endeavour every day to gain 
more and more accurate knowledge of the sacred 



Life of the Author. li 

writings, and a more just and comprehensive view 
of the government and providence of God. 

The only excursion in which for many years 
he indulged himself, was an annual visit to his 
friend Mr. Constable, of Wassand, near Beverley, 
with whom he ever continued in habits of the 
strictest intimacy and friendship from the year 
17152, when they were first introduced to the ac- 
quaintance of each other, by their common friend. 
Sir Wadsworth Bask, late attorney-general in 
the Isle of Man. 

I know not whether it was immediately after 
the publication of the fast sermon in 1777, that 
a -correspondence ccmiaaenced with Mr. Burke; 
but I know that for some time Mr. Cappe did 
correspond with him, although I have not been 
able to find any of his letters. "Mr. Cappe cor- 
responded very frequently with the late Dr. 
Priestley, from the year 1761 to 1785 ; likewise 
regularly, for some years, with Mr. Lindsey; and 
occasionally with the late Archdeacon Black- 
burne, Mr. Turner of Wakefield, Dr. Leechman 
of Glasgow, Dr Adam Smith, Dr. Black, Dr. 
Kippis, the present Mr. Walker of Manchester, 
Dr. Toujmin, Dr. Disney, Mr. W r ood of Leeds, 
Mr. Turner of Newcastle, and many other emi- 
nent characters. 



iii Life of the Author. 

I find, from a great number of his letters, now 
in my possession, that during the time of Dr. 
Priestley's residence at Warrington, at Leeds, 
-..and with the Marquis of Lansdowne, he sub- 
mitted several of his publications to the judgment 
and correction of Mr. Cappe ; but^ after that 
period, they had not much communication. In 
a letter now before me, dated London, March 
23d, 1774, Dr. P 4 says— <c I am most exceeding- 
e€ ly concerned to hear of the alarming symptom 
<c you mention *, and am sorry that my Work f 
" should be in your hands so very unseasonably, 
cc though I value your remarks so much that I 
" would rather wait half a year than proceed 
" without them. I am so truly sensible of your 
" superior judgment on these things, that there is 
" hardly a hint that you have suggested, which I 
c< have not adopted in what is yet printed of the 
" Institutes." 

In one of his last letters from Birmingham, 
dated March, 1784, at the beginning of Dr. Priest- 
ley's controversy with Bp. Horsley, he expresses 
' himself in the following manner : cc Dr. Horsley, 
c; I hear, is preparing a reply, and will, I believe 



* See page xli. 

f Institutes of Natural and Revealed Religion. 



Life of the Author. liii 

* f soon have it in the press — I wish you were a 
" Jittle nearer to me ; I want just such a regulator 
" and guide as you would be to me in this busi- 
" ness. You are too far off to be consulted on 

" emergencies." 

These two short quotation s, among many 
others that might be selected, bear ample testi- 
mony to the humility of this eminent and extra- 
ordinary person, and also to the high opinion he 
entertained of him who is the subject of these 
Memoirs. 

Although Mr. Cappe's disposition and pursuits 
led to the love of privacy and retirement, there 
was nothing in it gloomy or unsocial. He was, 
on the contrary, uniformly cheerful, and his talents 
for conversation, where he met with persons 
whose turn of mind was at all congenial, were of 
the first o.rder. He was particularly fond of 
young children ; of observing their little actions, 
their playfulness and simplicity, and would even 
mix in their infantile sports, the source of so 
much innocent enjoyment. I have often heard 
him remark, that if arguments were wanting of 
the infinite benevolence of God, they might be 
found in the variety and multiplied enjoyments 
of that early period, What pity, would he say, 



liv Life of the Author. 

that forms so fair, should ever, in their progress 
through life, be despoiled of their loveliness, by 
the baneful influence of bad example, perverted 
sentiment, unhallowed passion, and vicious pur- 
suit ! 

He published two more Fast Sermons during 
the American war, in the years 1780 and 1781 ; 
a third also w r as published in the year 1795, which 
he had composed and preached in the year 1782, 
and which is especially remarkable for the strik- 
ing coincidence of our national situation at those 
two periods. Of these Fast Sermons, Mr. 
Wood has given the following just, comprehen- 
sive, and beautiful outline in Memoirs of Mr. 
Cappe, originally prefixed to the excellent funeral 
sermon published by himself at the time, and 
now republished, by his permission, in this 
volume. 

" The first of these sermons is a strong and in- 
" dignant invective against the vices of the times, 
<c in which the preacher delivers his sentiments 
" with great freedom on the origin of that un- 
Ci happy contest, the spirit manifested in the pro- 
" sedition of it, and the general character of its 
"abettors. He surveyed from a distance in his 
cc retirement, the degeneracy of all ranks of men ^ 



Life of the Author. h 

** of persons In public office ; of the clergy ; of 
" the army ; of professing Christians as well as 
" of unbelievers ; of the serious and regular, as 
" well as of the gay and dissipated ; and, through 
" an optical anomaly, not uncommon to the men- 
" tal eye, saw them, perhaps, in somewhat more 
<s than their full magnitude ; at least, he felt them 
<c with a keenness, and spake of them with a se~ 
" verity, of which he would not have been capa- 
<e ble, had he been accustomed to mingle with 
" them, and take a nearer view. So true is it, 
" that we cannot preserve the perfect quickness 
" of our moral sensibility, but by keeping as care- 
" fully aloof from a familiar and close survey, as 
<c from the actual practice of vice." 

'* In the second, he takes a milder tone, but at 
€C the same time displays with dignity and force, 
" € the temptations and dangers incident in time 
cc of war, to the host that goes forth, to the power 
<c that sends them out, and to the people in whose 
* behalf they are sent.'" 

cs In the third, wearied with the conternnla- 
" tion of vice and misery, he seeks for consolation 
" and support, in the pleasing reflection, that as 
<( the Lord God omnipotent reigneth, c all has 
* f been, is. and must be well/ In this Discourse 



hi Life of the Author, 

™ we discover the germ of the principles which 
" are more fully developed in those on the provi« 
ffC dence and government of God 

€€ In the fourth he sinks again into despon- 
<c dence, and laments in a strain of tender com- 
€€ passion, the continued insensibility, luxury, 
" and profaneness, which threw a dark shade 
" over the public manners, and threatened the 
(c infliction of still severer judgments." 

From the first of these fast sermons, I have 
given a pretty copious extract. The second, 
preached in the year 1782, contains an accurate 
delineation of the evils incident both to go- 
vernors and the governed by a state of war, 
whatever may be its final issue, whether prosper- 
ous or adverse. It strikingly points out the un- 
lawfulness of war when protracted longer than is 
necessary for self-defence, and ascertains with 
great precision the conduct which statesmen 
ought to pursue, whether in respect of enemies 
or subjects. From the third, I shall give the 
following short extract, both as a specimen of the 
extensive views, taken in the first place, of the 
universal government and providence of God - y 



* Published by Mr. Cappe in the year 1795, 



Life of. the Author. Ivii 

and secondly, of the powerful persuasives to sheath 
the sword which cannot but present themselves 
to the real and contemplative Christian. 

** In every thing to give thanks, to rejoice ever- 
cc more, are Christian precepts, and Christian 
<c principles can enable us to keep them. To 
" the man who is accustomed to look at this life 
" in the light that eternity reflects upon it, and 
" to regard the present scene as his school of 
<e education for an interminable being, in any 
<c other light, how diminutive are all human 
" things ! An empire is an atom, and an age a 
" moment. In the fates of individuals, with re« 
*' spect to their pleasures, wealth, or fame ; in the 
" fates of nations, with respect to their interests, 
" prosperity, and glory, there can be nothing 
" that should check his joy in the consideration 
" that, in whatever names of power and majesty 
<£ mortals may array themselves, the throne of 
" empire is really filled by the ever-living God. 
" In every circumstance, whether of public or of 
" private life, he and all men can do their duty* 
<e can maintain their dignity, can keep good con- 
" science and good hope ; pain, sickness, poverty 
£C cannot hinder this ; the battle, the conflagra- 
" tion, the tyrant cannot hinder this j and, as to 

e 



Iviii Life of the Author. 

" the rest, the intention is kind, and the issue 
A good, and a few short days will bring him to 
Cf that transporting moment beyond which pain, 
" injustice, folly, imperfection cannot follow him, 
<c and to that happy land whose inhabitants are 
" all righteous. 

" If a patriot-king, the benefit of whose vir- 
K< tues extends but to a few provinces, and lasts 
" but for a few years, is, at all times, a blessing 
" so devoutly to be wished for, what a subject of 
<e triumph and rejoicing is it that this kingdom 
<f and that kingdom, this world and every world 
6C are governed by a Parent-God ! That King of 
<c kings can never forfeit his right to your alle- 
* e giance, can never alienate your affections from 
" him, can never vacate the throne on which he 
" sits, or create in you a wish that he should va- 
<£ cate it : out of his dominions, out of his protec- 
** tion, out of his blessing you cannot be ; living, 
" dying, dead, reviving, you are his subjects and 
"he is. your God. Rejoice then in the Lord, 
" O ye righteous^ for praise is comely for the 
" upright. 

" If these things cannot touch you," (name- 
ly, that in the sight of God all men are brethren) 
" look before you to that quiet grave whither, 



Life of the Author* lix 

ce by and by, with you, all the actors on this tu- 
" multuous scene will be withdrawn, where the 
'^monarch will have found his nothingness, and his 
cf armies felt their impotence ; where the bubbles, 
" motes, and shadows that now excite such mighty 
" agitations, shall make no impression on you j 
<c where your hearts, become cold to every earthly 
"interest, shall at length be still, and enemies, 
<c their enmity extinguished, shall sleep, beside 
" each other, in security and peace. 
- "If this cannot humanize you, look to that 
te high tribunal, where the ambitious ruler shall 
cc be ashamed, at last, of the low pursuits, the 
" petty trifles, and the glow-worm glories that 
" seduced him ; where the sanguinary hero shall 
£C shudder at the blood he once shed without re- 
" morse, and where no warrior shall justify him- 
" self, but the patriot whose sword was the 
" weapon of defence, and the protection of the 
" injured and oppressed. 

<c If this cannot move you to discard your pre- 
" judices, to curb your selfishness, to abash your 
" passions, reciprocally to embrace as friends 
" and to love as brethren, think again, and yield 
" yourselves to the benignant influences of the 
" thought, that the hour cometh, when, the im- 

€ 2 



Ix Life of the Author. 

" perfections of human governments being ac'o- 
" fished!, and the interfering interests of morta- 
** lity annihilated, in the city of the living God, 
" all the sincere, though misguided, children of 
6S his family, out of every nation, tongue, and 
<c kindred, even the generations that have fallen 
^ by each other's swords, looking back on the 
" events, in which, perhaps, they saw nothing 
^ wise, and felt nothing h\nd 3 shall be heard 
" throughout all that wide-stretched region, as the 
ci voice of a great multitude, and as the voice of 
(( many waters, and as the voice of mighty thun- 
fc derings, exulting together in the government of 

God, and calling on each other to be glad, and 
" to rejoice, and to give honour to him, saying ? 
* ? Alleluia, for the Lord God Omnipotent is 
" King. — Amen. Alleluia." 

These fast sermons procured him the respect of 
many eminent persons; among others, his friend- 
ship w y as sought by Charles Pulhill, Esq. of 
Chepstead Place, in Kent ; and a passage from 
one of them was quoted by Mr. Erskine, on the 
famous trial of Payne. 

" In the summer of it 82, Mr. Cappe was at- 
tacked by the influenza. He had several relapses* 
and in the November following. w T as seized with 



Life of the Author. ki 

a fever, from which his recovery was not ex- 
pected, and in consequence of which he was 
confined to his room, and bed, several weeks, 
In this fever he was attended with the greatest 
kindness and assiduity by his two medical friends 
in this city, the late Dr. Swainston and Dr. 
Hunter,' and by his eldest son, who sat up with 
him nine nights in succession. 

It was his contant custom to mark carefully 
the current of events, in order to extract from 
them such important reflections as might be use- 
ful to himself or others; and having now risen 
as it were from the margin of the grave, on his 
happy return to his ministerial labours, after an 
absence of eleven weeks, he gladly seized the 
occasion, in a manner peculiarly his own, of 
mowing forth the goodness of God, when he 
wounds as well as when he heals. These Ser- 
mons form the concluding part of this volume. 

Mr. Cappe had long been soliciced to make 
a selection of psalms, corrected by himself for 
public worship. In the year 17S5, he complied 
with this request, and the selection was pub- 
lished in 1786. It was adopted by his own con- 
gregation in this city, by that of Mr, Wood of 
J^eeds, Mr. Turner of Newcastle, and some 



Ixii Life of the Author. 

others ; but it was not advertised in any of the 
public papers, it could not be noticed by the pe- 
riodical prints, and consequently was never much 
known. The principles on which this selection 
of psalms were made, are stated in the preface ; 
of which the leading ones are, accuracy of senti- 
ment, and care to avoid all such peculiarities of 
opinion as might prevent any conscientious Chris- 
tian from joining in the use of them*. To these 
psalms is prefixed an explication of some scrip- 
tural terms, and phrases which occur in them. 

* I shall give a specimen of this in the 32d psalm of the first 
book, from the version of Dr. Watts, of the 17th psalm of David ; 
in which, among lesser alterations, the last stanza is so constructed, 
that it may be used by all Christians whatever may be their pe- 
culiar opinions respecting the period when a future life shall com- 
mence, whether immediately on the termination of the present 
scene^ or not until a general judgment 

PSALM XXXII, 
Christian designation and Hope, 

Lord I am thine, and thou wilt prove, 
My faith, my patience, and my love : 
Whate'er the trial, I'll complain 
Of nought thy wisdom shall ordain. 



Life of the Author. IxUi 

In the February of 1788, the writer of these 
memoirs became a member of Mr. Cappe's fa- 
mily : As he had not at this time any pupils, 
and from that and other causes, having more 
leisure than formerly, he was prevailed upon, 
after some time, by his newly-acquired amanu- 
ensis, to dictate now and then for half an hour, 
when fatigued with more laborious occupation, 
from his corrected short-hand, with a view to 
publication. His general state of health had 
suffered extremely from too great mental exer- 



Wbat sinners value I resign; 
Lord 'tis enough that thou art mine; 
I shall behold thee face to face, 
And stand complete in righteousness, 

This life's a dream, a transient show ; 
The eternal world to which I go, 
Hath joys substantial and sincere, 
When shall I wake and find me there? 

0 glorious hour ! O blest abode ! 

1 shall be near, and like my God ! 
And flesh and sin no more controul 
The sacred pleasures of the soul 

The change will come: this active mind 
To earth's dark scenes no more connVd, 
Shall burst the chains with glad surprise^. 
And in the Saviour's image rise. 

e 4 



Ixlv Life of the Author. 

tion, although he had always taken horse exer- 
cise whenever the weather would permit ; but 
even in these rides his mind was still actively 
employed ; in them, many of his. sermons were, 
in great measure, composed. The study of the 
scriptures, as already mentioned, was ever his 
supreme delight. For more than forty years he 
never went any where unaccompanied by a 
pocket Greek Testament, in which it was his 
custom to mark down hints, as thev occurred to 
him, of whatever might strike his mind, as me- 
riting farther consideration, upon pieces of card, 
or small slips of paper, or upon a slate table; 
these hints were from time to time examined, 
and at length formed into a rough draft. He 
then dismissed that particular subject for some 
time from his mind, in order that he might apply 
to it anew with more vigour and effect ; and it was 
not till after he had fully weighed every, the most 
minute circumstance, in all its bearings and con- 
nexions, that the dissertation was transcribed a 
third time correctly in short-hand. Considering 
the gospel as of the highest importance to the hap- 
piness of man, both here and hereafter, it is li- 
terally true, that he experienced more delight of 
heart in the elucidation of an obscure passage, in 



Life of the Author. ]xv 

removing a difficulty, or reconciling an apparent 
contradiction, than he would have done, if put in 
possession of every thing which the children of 
this world consider as most desirable. " Rejoice 
<c with me," he would often say, when coming 
from his study with brightened looks, and a more 
highly animated countenance, " for I think I have 
C€ discovered the true meaning of a passage, which 
4£ I never understood before L" 

Much, however, as he delighted in critical re- 
search, subjects of this sort were seldom the to- 
pics of his public teaching. Holiness of heart, 
and life, he considered as of first importance ; 
and to the attainment and cultivation of these, 
his discourses in the pulpit, of which the few that 
are given in this volume are a fair specimen, were 
principally directed, 

In the February of 1791, Mr, Cappe's resigna- 
tion and fortitude was put to a most severe trial, 
by the death of his eldest son, Dr. Joseph Cappe ; 
an instance of whose filial piety, has been already 
mentioned. He had studied Medicine in London 
and Edinburgh, had taken his degree at Leyden, 
and had fixed his residence in this city a few 
months before his death. He was a young man 
of great virtue, peculiarly eminent for accuracy 



Ixvi Life of the Author, 

and distinctness of perception, soundness of judg- 
ment, and solidity of mind. He possessed exten- 
sive knowledge, adorned by a lively imagination \ 
and had been the confidential companion and 
friend of his honoured father, under the pressure 
of many a domestic sorrow, in which his brothers 
and sisters were too young, at the time, to par- 
ticipate*. 

It fell to the lot of the writer of these Memoirs, 
to acquaint Mr. Cappe with this most afflictive 
event. It was in the morning, before he had 
risen : — " Leave me a moment," he said, " if 
you please and in less than half an hour, he 
dressed himself, came down stairs, and calling the 
family as usual to morning prayer, he poured out 
his soul in the presence of his Maker, in a strain 
of humble confidence, and of pious resignation, 
never to be forgotten. He endured on this occa- 



* When the first-edition of these Memoirs was written, viz. in 
October 1801, the following note was annexed in this place, viz 
" Two sons and three daughters survive their father, of whose ta- 
a lents and virtues, as they are still living, the Author is restrained 
" from speaking" The reader, however, into whose hands this 
volume may fall, will be apprized in the Appendix, that two sons 
do not survive him now. The youngest, Dr. Robert Cappe, fol- 
lowed his father to the grave, in one year and ten months. 



Lift of the Author. lxvii 

sioil every thing that the acutest sensibility, and 
the most ardent affection for the son he had lost, 
could inflict ; yet his fortitude never forsook him : 
it supported him even to the grave of his beloved 
son, where he himself performed the Funeral Ser- 
vice three days after, late in the evening, accom- 
panied only by the necessary attendants. This 
effort, I would gladly have prevented •> €< I re- 
ceived him from God," was his answer, " and to 
him I must resign him." So composed was his 
mind after this trying service, and so attentive 
was he, even in circumstances like these, to the 
feelings of others, that apprehending my mother, 
then much in years, might suffer from her anxiety 
on his account, he sent his clerk to inform her 
immediately after the whole was over, that he was 
very well. 

It has been already mentioned, that it was the 
habit of Mr. Cappe, to mark carefully the current 
of events, and to extract from them such reflec- 
tions, as might be useful to himself, or others. 

I shall make a few extracts from two Discourses, 
preached by him, on hearing of the early death of 
a young Gentleman of considerable hopes and 
expectations, who had been his pupil, and was 
well known to many in his Congregation, on the 



Ixviii Life of the Author. 

following text :— <c "W bat is your life ? It is even 
" as a vapour, it appeareth for a little time, and 
" then vanisbeth away," How far the animation 
of the Preacher could give interest to a subject* 
which howeyer important, is so familiar to us, 
(for we all know that life is often short, and that 
it is always uncertain,) the reader will be able in 
some measure, from these extracts, to appreciate. 

After an appropriate introduction, and an anir 
mated address to the testimony of the aged, even 
in respect of their experience of the shortness of 
life, he thus proceeds : <c Ask them to look back 
" upon the scenes through which they have passed, 
" upon the years which they have spent; entreat 
" them to tell you in what light they see them ; 
ff attend unto their answer, for with the aged 
" there is wisdom. What is it they reply ? They 
f c confirm the Oracle of God ; the weaver's 
" shuttle, they say, is not more swift ; the shoot- 
c< ing star is not more momentary, evanescent, 
" and unreal." . . . . " Some of you may consult 
ff your children^ instead of advising with your 
ee fathers ; and all of you, I believe, may as^ 
f c your brethren, if the time be not very short. 
"The registers of the dead are not unfaithful; 
€€ they cannot err; they are not interested; con,- 



Life of the Author. IxJla 

ki siilt the registers of the dead. Lock upon the 
- f tombs, are their inhabitants all old ? No, not 
" all ; many ? No, not many; the aged are a thinly 
* c scattered number. Infants there are, who have 
■ f been born to weep and die ; babes there are, 
" who in all their sportive innocence, have gone 
" down into the grave % youths there are, who in 
cc their gayest hours, and amidst the most plea- 
*' surable scenes, have been recalled to lie down 
<c in darkness, and the dust. Numbers too there 
" are, who in the pride of manhood,- the maturity 
" of life, in the full career of business 3nd of hone. 
" have been eased of all their anxieties, and de- 
" feated of all their expectations, and fast bound 
<f in the fetters of death. The young lie thick as 
" dew-drops on the ground 5 here and there only 
" do we find a monument erected unto years and 
* s wisdom 5 we wonder when we find it, and vet 
• this our wonder does not cure us of our security 

se and confidence," " Perhaps, even now, 

" the scythe of time is lifted up to cut down those 
<c who little think of it, who are expecting the de- 
" parture of their friends, or preparing to convey 
** their fathers to the tomb," . . . . " To-morrow, 
" that idol Deity in which the world have agreed 
ec to place their trust ; to-morrow, that Haii^-spun 



I xx Life of the Author. 

" thread, on which they hang the weighty con- 
" cernments of eternity, what is to-morrow ? No 
c< part of our possessions, no part of our inheri- 
" tance; it is a part in the great chain of duration, 
cc but perhaps no part of our present being. Clear 
t( and bright^ and steady as it shines to-day, some 
" sudden blast may blow out the lamp of life ; 
" and to-morrow may have conveyed us into other 
" company, and settled us in other scenes. 1 Boast 
" not,' my friends, e of to-morrow/ till you have 
" unrolled the book of fate, and learnt what to - 
" day shall bring forth. " . . . . " Last night, it is 
cc probable, many a gay youth threw himself upon 
" the bed, whence he shall arise no more ; and 
(C many a busy head reposed itself on that pillow, 
" where it shall sleep on now, and take its rest. 
" How sad and serious are many now, who but 
" last night were giddy, thoughtless, presumptu- 
" ous, and vain ; how terrible has this to-morrow 
« proved to many, who but yesterday said unto 
66 themselves that it was yet soon enough to re- 
cc pent and be converted ? c Thou fool, this night 
" shall thy soul be required of thee/ was a short, 
" a severe, and yet a gracious warning." . . . " In 
" every breeze that blows, there is a flight of hu- 
<( man fates 5 in every breath we breathe, we may 



Life of the Author, - ixxi 

€C drink in the deadly poison ; every hour we 
*f stand in jeopardy, then c verily every man at his 
" his best estate, is altogether vanity.' In every 
" walk we take* death treads upon our steps > he 
" watches us in our retirements, he follows us in 
" our business, he mingles with the Angels that 
*' stand round our beds j in that very moment, 
" when our hearts are most attached to the world; 
<c in that very moment when we are least appre- 
" hensive of our fate, then the tyrant springs 
<c upon his prey, rejoicing to add unto his native 
" horrors, the accessory terrors of surprise. c In 
<c the midst of life* we are in death in the bloom 
" of life, we are in danger of some fatal blight ; 
" in the highest health, we may be nearest fo 
w some mortal malady. What then is your life ? Is 
" it not a fleeting cloud, an evaporating smoke, 
" an exploding meteor, a painted bubble? Break 
* € the bubble must ; in its greatest beauty it will 
<c break, and it may break ere night." 

Of the uses to be made of these reflections on 
the shortness and uncertainty of life, he thus 
speaks If life be so short, and so uncer- 

<( tain, then ought we not to be prodigal of time? 
<f . . . When you can arrest the passing moments, 
" then you may abuse them 3 when you can say 



Ixxii Life of the Author. 

(( that you have finished the work of life, then 
ss you may amuse yourselves. Of our honour we 
fs are jealous, of our wealth we are parsimonious, 
ts of our labour we are frugal, but our time we 
es waste upon the follies, we waste it on the plea- 
* c sures, we waste it on the cares of this life ; we 
" give it unto every one that asks it of us; nor 
(C are we sensible of our extravagance, perhaps, 
<c till the world cannot purchase us another 
" hour. Time was given us, that we might 
" buy with it the blessings of eternity ; as the 
" revenue comes in, we expend it on the vanities 
" of this world ; and when we should enter on 
" that glorious inheritance, we find ourselves poor, 
" and miserable, and blind, and naked*." 

* I was much struck and affected by reading a volume of 
Poems published by Dr. Aikin in 1803, written by the late Henry 
Moore, a fellow student of Mr. Cappe'sat Northampton. The 
strain of sentiment that generally runs through them is so much 
in the manner of Mr. Cappe, that I could have supposed them to 
have been written by himself. How strongly, for instance, did 
the following passage in the Ode to Contentment bring his image 
to my mind ! 

Divine Contentment! still be nigh 

To cheer me with thy placid eye. 
While thro' this fleeting Life's short various day 
A humble Pilgrim here I plod my way, 



Life of the Author. Ixsiir 

During the summer of the year 1790, Mr. 
Cappe had had many threatenings of a paralytic 
attack, but the awful blow was suspended until 
the 2d of May, 1791 \ a morning ever to be re- 
membered by the writer of these Memoirs, when 
this friend of her heart, to whose great and 
fine qualities she was perhaps too ardently at- 
tached, was suddenly seized wirh a dreadful stroke 
of the palsy ! He had taken a ride to a neighbour- 
ing village to baptize a child, and the morning 
being fine, had afterwards prolonged his ride, 
when suddenly, in a sandy lane, finding his head 
extremely uncomfortable, he threw himself from 
his horse, and was found almost immediately after, 
by a neighbouring gentleman, the faithful animal 
standing by him, as if conscious of his master's 
situation. The circumstance of the deep sand in 
the lane, preserved him from being injured by 
the fall 5 but his life, notwithstanding, was de- 
spaired of for many weeks. At length, it pleased 
the Almighty in some measure to restore him j 
but although he continued afterwards to read 

May no ambitious dreams delude my mind. 
Impatience hence be far — and far be Pride ; 
Whate'er my lot, on HeavVs kind care reclined, 
Be Piety my comfort — Faith my guide. 



Ixxiy Life of the Anile". 

and to compose occasionally, yet he was never 
able again to resume his ministerial labours. 

In the summer of 1792, he was so far recovered, 
as to make a visit, accompanied by myself, to his 
old friend Mr. Lee, (at Staindrop, in the county 
of Durham,) then in a very declining state of 
health, but still in full possession of his extraordi- 
nary conversational talents. We were met there 
by Mr. Constable of Wassand ; and, by a singu- 
lar coincidence of circumstances, by Sir "Wads- 
worth Buske also, at that time resident in the Isle 
of Man. Sir W. Buske did not know that his 
two other friends were at Staindrop ; but being 
at Harrogate, and wishing to visit Mr. Lee, his 
arrival was unexpectedly announced one morning 
at breakfast, just after it had been remarked by 
Airs. Lee, that the three old friends wanted only 
the addition of Sir Wadsworth Buske, to complete 
their happiness ! 

On the 7th of April, in the year 1793, Mr. 
Cappe had a second paralytic seizure, which, al- 
though it affected him differently, was not less se- 
vere than the first, and by which his life was again 
for many weeks in the most imminent danger - s 
and from this he never so far recovered as to be 
able to walk without considerable assistance, or 



Life of the Author. lxxv 

to speak without difficulty and pain. In circum- 
stances like these, it might seem-to many, that 
his Jife was no longer desirable ; but these saw 
only how much was lost ; they did not know in 
how many ways he could still administer to the 
comfort and happiness of others ; and how ample 
were the stores of enjoyment and of hope, that 
remained to himself. He could still instruct, by 
exemplifying, in practice, the efficacy of those 
divine precepts of resignation and fortitude, 
which, in theory, he had so often and so ably 
taught ; and those who loved him had still the 
consolation of endeavouring to lighten his burdens, 
and of anticipating his wishes. The powers of 
recollection were still spared him, and they brought 
with them the constant testimony of a life well 
spent. Although he could no longer laboriously 
explore, and endeavour to bring to light the trea- 
sures of knowledge that lie hidden in the sacred 
volume, its precepts, its consolations, and its hopes, 
were engraven on his heart, and of these, disease 
did not deprive him. It was even still permitted 
him to labour in the vineyard of his honoured 
Master, by dictating from his short-hand papers 
to an amanuensis, who could have no pleasure in 
this world equal to the effort of contributing to 

f 2 



Ixxvi Life of the Author, 

his happiness, and of being instrumental to the 
preservation of papers which she deemed so in- 
estimable. Some hours in almost every day, for 
nearly nine years, were dedicated to this employ- 
ment, to which all others were made to give way; 
and so ample were the stores from which these 
treasures were drawn, that although many vo- 
lumes have been transcribed, together with an 
Harmony and Notes on the whole New Testa- 
ment, many more remain locked up in an unintel- 
ligible short-hand. Among these theEditor regrets 
principally, his Notes upon Dr. Hartley's Obser- 
vations on Man ; a work which Mr. Cappe had 
closely studied, and estimated very highly, and of 
which it was his intention to have published a new 
edition. These Notes, which are extremely nume- 
rous, unfortunately had not advanced beyond a 
short-hand rough draft, which was to have been 
again revised, and many of them are written with 
a pencil, which made the reading of them at- 
tended with difficulty; so that he was never 
equal to the labour of doing it, and of correcting, 
arranging, and re-transcribing. 

It is well known, during the period of which 
we are speaking, that infidelity was not only pro- 
fessed openly in a neighbouring nation, but that 



Life of the Author. lxXvii 

in this country also, if it did not avow itself in 
terms quite so direct, Christianity was treated by 
many writers of sufficient celebrity, with studied 
neglect *. Painfully impressed by these cir- 
cumstances, I adverted to the apprehensions 
they excited, as I was transcribing the reasons 
assigned by Mr. Cappe, to believe even from 
present appearances, that Christianity would finally 
prevail ; and asked him if it might not be well to 
intermingle some reflections on events then taking 
place f ? "By m means," he replied, " depend 

* This fashionable mode of treating Christianity by a certain 
class of writers, or rather of passing it over in profound silence, is 
thus well adverted to, by an able female writer of the present day. 
tc Avowed attacks upon revelation are more easily resisted, be* 
" cause the malignity is advertised. But who suspects the de- 
" struction which lurks under the harmless or instructive names, 
" of General History, Natural History, Travels, Voyages, Lives, 
" Encyclopedias, Criticism, and Romances ? Who will deoy that 
" many of these works contain much admirable matter ; brilliant 
'* passages, iinportaut fact, just descriptions, faithful pictures of 
*' nature, and valuable illustrations of science? But while 'the 
" dead fly lies at the bottom,' the whole will exhale a corrupt 
" and pestilential stench." Mrs. Hannah More's Strictures on 
the Modern System of Female Education, Vol. I. pages 31, 32. 

f One of the passages alluded to, is as follows. Having enu- 
merated some of the difficulties which the gospel had to encoun- 
ter on its first promulgation and of the probabilities at that time 

f 3 



Ixxviii Life of the Author. 

upon it, these are only passing clouds, not worth 
the notice." And indeed it is remarkable, that 
the unanimity of his mind was never for a mo- 
ment disturbed by them, for he well knew on 
whom he had believed ; and may- 1 not here be 
allowed to remark, that already, even in the short 
interval of seven years, these " passing clouds" 
are beginning to vanish away ? The substitution 
of philosophy, falsely so called, (for genuine phi- 
losophy is her steadfast friend) in place of Chris- 
tianity, has not produced all the glorious effects 
that were predicted of its advent. — The inhabi- 
tants of a neighbouring nation are not become of 



against its success, Mr. Cappe observes, " In the circumstances 
" of the gospel now, there are no such reasons to apprehend its 
" extinction or confinement." (viz. to an obscure province, like 
Judea.) " The increasing facility and extent of human intercourse, 
u the growing comprehension of the human understanding ; the 
iS improved liberality of human sentiments j the wide distribution 
" of the gospel records ; the acknowledged excellence of the gos= 
" pel morality; the advancing separation of the corruptions that 
" had been intermingled with it from the truth as it is in Jesus ; 
** the debates that have arisen concerning its evidences, and its 
" doctrines, which have been the means of placing them in the 
" clearest light, and fixing them upon their true foundation ; all 
«' these things conspire to suggest and to support the assured 
u hope, that the gates of death never shall prevail against the 
** word of Jesus." Dissertations, pages 126, 127 » Vol. I. 



Life of the Author. Ixxix 

all others, the most enlightened, the most free, or 
the most happy ; and if it has failed in this world, 
where its laurels avowedly were to be reaped, it 
will not be afcrmed that it has any indemnifica- 
tion to offer in the contemplation of another, in 
which it professes not to believe, and for which it 
is altogether unprepared. 

Among the pleasures of which Mr. Cappe was 
never wholly deprived, those must be reckoned 
which resulted from the contemplation of the 
works, as well as of the word of God. Although 
unable to walk, or to ride on horseback, he was 
drawn in a little carriage, when the weather 
would permit, in the open air, where he could 
enjoy the pleasures of spring, and watch the pro- 
gress of vegetation. Still he could admire the 
glories of a setting sun, in the contemplation of 
which he had ever had the greatest pleasure ; 
enjoy the fragrance of the evening breeze ; gaze 
with calm delight on the vaulted canopy of 
heaven, studded with innumerable worlds ; and 
join with Milton in his elevated hymn of praise— 

e< These are thy wond'rous works, 

*' Parent of good : thus wond'rous fair, 

£i Thyself how wond'rous then I" 



Ixxx Life of the Author. 

To say that he never discovered any fretfulness ^ 
that he never once repined at the dispensations 
of Providence ; that he never once regretted the 
powers he had lost ; (although he was fully sen- 
sible of their loss, " I once knew a little," he was 
accustomed to say ') would be to fall very short 
of a true representation of his actual state of 
mind, which was always composed, serene, and 
cheerful, and on which was constantly impressed 
a sense of gratitude, of thankfulness, and of 
praise. 

In him surely we see an example supplying the 
most powerful incentive, even were this world 
only concerned, to the diligent cultivation, and 
faithful improvement of our several talents, what- 
ever they may be. Had the early days of the 
character under contemplation been consumed, 
we will not say in vice, but in the pursuit of those 
objects which the men of this world seek after, 
of pleasure, of ambition, or of gain, would such 
have been his resources in the day of trial ? 
Would such have been the hope that, amidst 
the storm and tempest, can repose, with full 
security, on the " Rock of Ages r" So true it 
is, that <f to the upright there ariseth light in the 
" darkness:" So true it is, generally speaking, 



Life of the Author. ixxxi 

even in respect of what relates to the present 
scene, that " whatsoever a man soweth, that, 
" shall he also reap !" 

Among his many remaining comforts, Mr. 
Cappe always reckoned in the foremost rank, the 
having met with a colleague *, in w r hom he 
early discovered an ardent love of truth, especi- 
ally of religious truth ; talents equal to its de- 
velopement, and dispositions the most amiable. 
He felt for him a truly paternal affection; often 
did he please himself with anticipating what he 
believed would be his future eminence : and he 
always looked forward to him as his successor in 
his ministerial office in this city, with singular 
complacency and satisfaction. 

In the night of the 16th of September, 1799, 
Mr. Cappe had a third paralytic attack ; which, 
although it did not, like the two foregoing, seem 
to threaten immediate dissolution, yet so greatly 
impaired his remaining bodily powers, so af- 
fected his articulation, and weakened his whole 
frame, that we were obliged, in a great measure, 
ever after to lay aside the occupation of trans- 
cribing, which had hitherto been the source of 



* The Rev. Charles Wellbeloved. 



Ixxxii Life of the Author. 

so much pleasure and consolation. Still, how- 
ever, his resignation, his fortitude, and his cheer- 
fulness remained. That what had happened to 
him was the will of his heavenly Father, was 
ground sufficient not of acquiescence merely, but 
of firm persuasion, that it was the best that could 
have been, both for himself and others. Even his 
countenance lost nothing of its wonted compo- 
sure and benignity : he was prevailed upon, after 
this, to have his picture taken, which fortunately 
bears a strong likeness : and now that the origi- 
nal is no longer present, it is soothing to the sor- 
rowing mind to be able, by this means, to call to 
its remembrance in a more vivid form, the piety, 
resignation, and benevolence that was ever de- 
picted in the living prototype. 

Mr. Scott of Am well, was one of his favourite 
poets, and the " Elegy on the Approach of 
• c Winter," his favourite piece. With what plea- 
sure did he quote the following stanzas, where 
the poet, speaking of contentment, says, 

" She finds in Winter many a view to please ; 
" The morning landscape fringed with frost-work gay, 
" The sun at noon seen through the leafless trees,* 
" The. clear calm ether at the close of day: 



Life of the Author. Ixx&iii 

** She bids, for all, our grateful praise arise, 

" To Him, whose mandate spake the world to form ; 

41 Gave Spring's gay bloom, and Summer's cheerful skies, 

" And Autumn's corn-clad field, and Winter's sounding storm.** 

Within the last few months of his life, his sight 
failed exceedingly. " I believe I shall be quite 
" blind/' he often said to me ; and on my re- 
plying, " I hope not," his answer constantly 
was 5 "I have neither hope nor fear upon the 
" subject, and do not you fear. I mention 
he continued, " merely as a fact, not as a subject 
" of regret." 

About the middle of December, 18C0, he ap- 
peared to have caught cold, but it was not at- 
tended by any symptoms that created much en- 
usual alarm. His breathing, indeed, when In a 
recumbent posture, was difficult, but it had fre- 
quently been so ever since his last paralytic 
attack. On Monday the 22d, a gentleman called 
upon him* whom he had not seen for many years ; 
and being forcibly struck and aB&eted by his ex- 
treme feebleness, he said to him, ^ ^&t ; great 
" alterations, Sir, have taken place since we last 
" met !" (C It is true," he replied, " great altera- 
" tions have taken place, yet, I assure you, I 



lxxxiv Life of the Author. 

" never was happier in my life 5" and ^he then 
enumerated the many blessings he still possessed. 
At night he had a shivering fit, after which he 
sunk rapidly ; and, about two o'clock, on the 
morning of the 24th of December, without a 
groan or a sigh, he ended his earthly pilgrimage. 
He appeared to be perfectly sensible to the last, 
and fully conscious of his own situation 5 thanked 
every one, repeatedly, for their attention to him, 
and several times added something more, which 
it was evident, from his manner, was of the conso- 
latory kind to his -sorrowing attendants - y but his 
articulation was so imperfect, that it could not 
be understood. 

If the reader of these Memoirs has ever pos- 
sessed such a friend, and has experienced what it 
is to see his place vacant, he will then compre- 
hend what are the feelings of the writer of them ! 
To such an one, how inestimable are the hopes, 
the promises of the gospel ! Well did our blessed 
Lord understand their unspeakable value, when, 
in one of his beautifully prophetic parables, anti- 
cipating the future fates of the gospel, he com- 
pares it to a pearl of great price, which, being 
found by a merchantman, he went and sold all 
that he had, to purchase it !— " The gospel lives, 



Life of the Author. Ixxxv 

" though the preachers of the gospel die. In 
fC that there is no change. The everlasting gos- 
cc pel is its name. No vicissitudes of private 
" life, no civil tumults, no public revolutions, 
" can injure or endanger it. What a consolation! 
" It has comforted our departed friends. When 
" we are dead, it will comfort our sur- 
" viving relatives. It will guide the living, and 
" sustain the dying, till that glorious period of the 
" Divine Administration shall arrive, when sin, 
" and pain, and death, shall be no more 
Amen. Alleluia ! 

YORK, May 19, 1805. 
* Mr. Cappe's Sermon on the death of Mr. Sandercock, 1770, 



Books Published by the same Author. 

1. A Sermon on the death of the Rev. E. Sandercock, 1770. 

2. A Fast Sermon, 1776. 

3. A Fast Sermon, 1780. 

4. A Fast Sermon, 1781. 

5. A Thanksgiving Sermon on the Peace, 1734. 

6. A selection of Psalms for Social Worship, 1786. 

7. A Fast Sermon, preached in 1782, published in 1795. 

8. Discourses on the Providence and Government of God, 
in boards, 4s. 1795. 



Published by Catharine Cappe. 
1 . Critical Remarks on many important Passages of Scrip- 
tures, 2 vols. 8 to, from the short hand papers of the 
Rev. Newcome Cappe, together with Memoirs of his Life, 
Price 16s. 1802. 

2. An account of two Charity Schools, &c. Price 3s. !80(X 

3. Observations on Charity Schools, and Female Friendly 
Societies : dedicated, by permission, to the Ladies'Committee 
for promoting the Education and Employment of the Female 
Poor. Price 4s. 6d. 1805, 



DISCOURSES, &c. 



DISCOURSE I. 

ON FAITH IN GENERAL, AND RELIGIOUS FAITH 
IN PARTICULAR. 

Hebrews xi. i. 

NOW FAITH IS THE SUBSTANCE OF THINGS HOPED FOR 
AND THE EVIDENCE OF THINGS UNSEEN. 

FaITH in general is any kind of persuasion 
proceeding from testimony concerning any thing 
whatever that is not the immediate object of our 
own consciousness, or of our own senses. What- 
ever truths we hold upon the evidence of sense or 
consciousness, or by necessary consequences legi- 
timately deduced, these truths we know : on the 
other hand, whatever truths we derive from any 
other source ; be it from the relation of others, or 
by rational deductions from their depositions, 
these truths we believe, The result of the former 

B 



2 On Faith in general, and 

principles, is knowledge ; the effect of the latter, 
faith. Religious knowledge, is very seldom dis- 
tinguished from religious faith ; and for the ordi- 
nary purposes of life, in the regulation of our 
temper, and the direction of our conduct, there 
is no need of such distinctions. In fact, the far 
greater and more interesting part of our religious 
principles is derived from Faith - y yet such is the 
degree of evidence resulting from the testimony 
of Christ and his Apostles, respecting those truths 
which we receive through them, that our faith in 
these, approaches as near as may be unto know- 
ledge. 

Religious Faith, is properly that conviction con- 
cerning past, future, or unseen things, relating 
to God, his will, his counsels, or his providence, 
which is produced in us, by the testimony of pro- 
phets whom he hath sent and authorised. 

This it is in respect to its nature and its origin, 
and in respect to its effects, the Apostle tells us 
that " it is the substance of things hoped for, the 
evidence of things unseen." Though the version 
be somewhat obscure, yet the original is suffici- 
ently perspicuous, but the terms of it are of such a 
nature, that without circumlocution it would have 
been impossible perhaps to have expressed the 



Religious Faith in particular. 3 

sense of the passage more perfectly than in the 
words of the text. It is not however, so pro- 
perly a philosophical definition of Faith, as, ac- 
cording to the manner of this Apostle, a rhe- 
torical encomium on it. " Faith," says he, cc is 
that act of the mind, which makes things hoped 
for, to be j it is that principle which places things 
unseen, in a clear, convincing, and affecting light. 
It gives to future things a reality in respect to 
us, which if we were devoid of this principle, 
however certain in themselves they would not 
have." And having said so much of Faith, he 
goes on to enlarge his affirmation, and to am- 
plify the excellence of his" subject, by extending 
what he had already affirmed concerning the 
objects of hope, to whatever things which are 
not in themselves the objects of our senses, whe- 
ther past, present, or to come. 

Faith is the great principle of the Christian 
life, for it is in every sense true, that the Chris- 
tian walks by faith and not by sight; he. is 
neither governed by the things of this present 
world, nor does he yet see all the things which 
are the objects of his principal attention, affection, 
and pursuit. The wise and good, under the pa- 
triarchal, and Jewish dispensations, walked by 

B2 



4 On Faith in general ', and 

faith ; and accordingly the Apostle goes on to ce- 
lebrate the faith of Abel, Enoch, Noah, Abraham, 
Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses, and others; charac- 
ters in preceding ages whose virtues had adorned 
the times and dispensations under which they 
lived. 

Even in the gentile world, which had no 
other notion of invisible and future things, than 
what was derived from the light of nature, aided 
perhaps by the remains of primitive tradition, 
those who restrained their appetites and passions 
respecting sensible things, and present interests, 
from a reverence of an unseen law-giver and ob- 
server of their conduct ; from the fear of an in- 
visible judge ; from the hope that by this means 
heaven would be rendered propitious to them; 
however obscure, imperfect, or even unjust, their 
ideas, either of the divine nature, providence, or 
of that future world might be ; these persons, 
notwithstanding, walked by Faith. 

Faith in Christ, is a firm persuasion that what- 
ever he hath declared is true, and this is the 
great difference between the faith of Christians 
and the faith of others : — That the Faith of Chris- 
tians, if it be founded on the word of God, and 
correspond to the truth as it is in Jesus, is more 



Religious Faith in particular. 5 

extensive, purer, and more lively : that it em- 
braces a greater number of interesting and im- 
portant truths, concerning unseen, past, and fu- 
ture things ; and that, although it must in some 
instances be attended with obscurity, because the 
objects it embraces are but in part revealed, yet 
that it is not in any instance debased with error ; 
and also, that being supported by a much stronger , 
evidence, it is naturally more productive of all 
good fruit, and is a steadier, as well as a more 
active principle of conduct. 

Faith changes the fugitive and visionary na- 
ture of things unseen, whether past, present, or 
to come, into something more fixed and more 
substantial : it transports us back into the past, 
and interests us in the events of a thousand 
ages that had elapsed before we were called into 
being. It gives us to behold that important 
moment, when the Lord spake, and it was done ; 
when he commanded, and all things stood fast ; 
and fills our souls with those delightful senti- 
ments of wonder, reverence, and love, that 
w r ould have seized them, had we been present 
when this glorious universe, at his command, 
burst into existence ; when the morning stars 
sang together, and the first born sons of God 

B3 



6 On Faith in general, and 

shouted aloud for joy. Faith displays before 
our eyes the secret government of God, and 
shows us how uncontrolable he is, how wise, how 
just, and how kind in all his dispensations, whe- 
ther of the natural, the civil, or the moral world . 
Faith sets before us that most consolatory and 
delightful scene, the great and good Father of 
all continually superintending all his works, 
watching over every creature he has made, in- 
terested even for the falling sparrow, and count- 
ing the very hairs of the human head. 

We see him adorning, even this scene of 
discipline with innumerable beauties ; blessing 
even this childhood of our being with innu- 
merable entertainments and delights ; dispensing 
to us our condition during the little period of 
our sojourning on earth, with all the tenderness 
and all the liberality that consists with our safe 
arrival in that better world to which we go, and 
with our interests in that unchangeable and ever- 
lasting state. We see this holy God, even when 
clouds and darkness are round about him, still 
smiling through the cloud upon his faithful 
children, lifting up the light of his countenance 
upon them, and preparing to reward them with 
a crown of life. Faith shows us this almighty 



Religious Faith in particular, 7 

Monarch, to purify the iniquity of the world, 
breaking up the fountains of the deep, and 
opening the windows of heaven. Faith shows 
us this Avenger of unrighteousnsss bringing 
down a fiery tempest on the cities of the plain : 
Faith shows us this Hope and Confidence of his 
people, dividing the waters of the sea to pre- 
serve the armies of Israel, and instantly bring- 
ing back the waters that he had divided, for 
the destruction of Pharaoh and his host. 

By Faith we see this God and Father of our 
Lord Jesus Christ, in sending Abraham from 
his country and his father's house; in changing 
the intended death of Joseph into servitude in 
Egypt; in visiting the fruitful country of Canaan 
with famine ; in settling the house of Jacob in 
the land of Egypt ; in multiplying his posterity 
in that settlement ; in subjecting them to the 
tyranny of cruel and oppressive princes,; in pre- 
serving Moses to be their deliverer ; in the 
plagues by him inflicted to obtain for them the 
deliverance they sought ; in the law that was 
given them at Sinai ; in the peculiar constitu- 
tion under which they were at last settled in 
the promised land ; in all the revolutions of the 
Jewish state; in their prosperities and their afflic- 

B4 



On Faith in general, and 

: their indepe n dence and their servi- 
1 in the various fates of many powerful 

kingdoms with which they were occasionally 
connected : — in all these events we see by Faith 
the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, 
rewarding the virtues and chastising the vices 
both of individuals and of nations; exhibiting the 
most striking evidence that he ruleth in the 
kingdom of men 5 displaying an example of his 
moral government; and making strait the way 
for the gospel of his Son to have free course and 
be glorified. 

By Faith we hear the great Arbiter of events, 
who sees the end from the beginning, one while 
to reclaim the nations from their iniquities, warn- 
ing them of the evils with which he is about to 
visit them, and another w T hile, to support and 
comfort his repenting people in their troubles, 
revealing to them the deliverances he is about to 
accomplish for them ; and all along from period 
to period, through a long succession of ages and 
generations promising in plainer and still plainer 
terms, and describing in clearer and still clearer 
characters that illustrious personage who should 
spread the knowledge of God, even unto the 
ends of the earth ; who should put an end to 



Religious Faith in particular. 9 

sin, bring in an everlasting righteousness, and 
erect a kingdom that should never cease. 

Faith, introduces us into the fields of Beth- 
lehem, opens our ears unto the Angels' anthem, 
and displays before us all the wonderful events 
that accompanied the birth of this prince of peace. 
By F.aith we are present at the gracious words 
that proceeded out of his mouth ; we hear the 
divine discourses that he addressed unto the mul- 
titude, and are admitted to that more intimate 
communion that he held with his immediate 
disciples. By Faith we behold the sick reviving 
at his touch ; the lame leaping at his word ; the 
blind gazing with astonishment at that power- 
ful friend, by whom they had regained their 
sight, and the dead rising from their graves 
to bless the Abolisher of death. By Faith we 
see him tried, condemned, and crucified ; dying, 
in the exercise of the divinest virtue, a male- 
factor's death upon the cross. By Faith we see 
him sleeping in the tomb, rising from the dead 
according to his own prediction, satisfying the 
doubts of his disciples and ascending in their 
presence, as he said he should do, to his Father 
and their Father, to his God and their God. 

By Faith we see the angelic guard, that at- 



10 On Faith in general, and 

tended our ascending Lord, and hear the promise 
which they left to the disciples, " this same Jesus 
who is taken up from you into heaven, shall so 
come in like manner, as he was seen to go 
thither." Faith opens to us the eternal gates, 
draws back the veil that separates between earth 
and heaven, and extends our prospect far be- 
yond the region of the shadow of death ; brings 
us into the city of the living God ; shows us 
there, the blessed Jesus, for his obedience unto 
death, crowned with glory and honour, and seated 
at the right hand of the majesty on high. She 
shows us there, the innumerable company of 
Angels, the spirits of just men made perfect, 
settled in the presence of our heavenly Father ; 
and enables us, imperfectly it is true, but in 
some degree enables us to anticipate the hap- 
piness of so blessed a communion. Faith has 
the power to bring forward that future happi- 
ness to make glad the present hour. As Faith 
penetrates into that which is within the veil 
whither the forerunner is for us entered, so be- 
fore her eye also, hell is naked, and destruction 
has no covering. 

Through Faith we may even now enjoy that 
happy day, when by the power of the gospel, 



Religious Faith in particular. \ 1 

peace, and truth, and virtue prevailing through- 
out the world, shall spread their blessed influences 
from one end of the earth to the other.— By 
Faith we anticipate the glorious period when the 
great destroyer, Death, himself shall be destroyed. 
Through Faith we can already feel somewhat of 
that ecstatic triumph that will seize us, when 
waking from the bed of death, we shall behold 
the face of God in righteousness, and at length 
be satisfied with his perfect likeness. 

Such are the forepast scenes that Faith brings 
back to us ; such are the invisible transactions 
that Faith discovers to us - y such are the great fu- 
turities that it places in a distinct and striking 
view* Does the Apostle say too much of 
faith ? is he too lavish in its praise ? is he 
too sanguine in commending it ? If such 
things, so deeply interesting to us, have been, 
and are, and are to be, things which our senses 
cannot reach, who would not be thankful for 
being made capable of that principle by which 
fhey are revealed unto us ? who would not be 
thankful that we are not left to dark, and du- 
bious, and vague conjectures concerning subjects 
so important as the origin, and government, and 
end of all things ? that we are not bewildering 



12. On Faith in general, and 

ourselves in wild imaginations, nor fleeting from 
uncertainty to uncertainty ? 

Let us then use the privileges that we praise ; 
while we bless him for those clear discoveries and 
overpowering evidences that have so well de- 
fined, and so firmly fixed our conceptions of 
invisible and future things, let us live as they 
ought to live, who know that they came out of 
the hands of God, that they are the subjects 
of his government, and are going hence to his 
tribunal. 

PRAYER. 

O Lord God almighty, we believe that from 
thee we derived our being, with all its powers, 
its comforts, and its hopes ; we believe that we 
continually act in thy presence, and under thy 
inspection, <c who art acquainted with all our 
ways we believe that we are accountable 
unto thee for all our conduct, and that the day 
is coming when thou shalt judge the world in 
righteousness, and when all shall receive accord- 
ing to their deeds. 

We lament before thee, heavenly Father, that 
this our most holy faith has in times past pro- 
duced no greater influence on our affections 



Religious Faith in particular. 1 S 

and our conversation. In time to come may it 
bring forth fruits mete unto repentance ! May we 
be more thankful unto thee from whose bounty 
all our blessings flow, and more resigned unto 
thy will, without whom not an atom changes 
its place throughout the boundless universe ! In 
all our conduct may we behave as seeing thee 
who art invisible. May we admit nothing into 
our hearts that we could desire to conceal from 
thy all penetrating eye ; nothing into our con- 
duct of which we shall have cause to be 
ashamed, at thy righteous tribunal ! " The life 
that we now live in the flesh, may it be by 
the faith of the son of God," and may we add 
unto our faith virtue, to virtue knowledge, to 
knowledge temperance, to temperance patience, 
to patience godliness, to godliness brotherly 
kindness, and to brotherly kindness chanty, that 
these things being in us and abounding, we may 
not be barren or unfruitful in the knowledge 
of our Lord and Saviour, but may in all things 
adorn the sacred doctrine we profess. 



{ 14 ) 



DISCOURSE IX. 

FAITH A REASONABLE PRINCIPLE. 



Hebrews xi. 1. 

FAITH IS THE SUBSTANCE OF THINGS HOPED FOR, THE 
EVIDENCE OF THINGS UNSEEN. 

FaITH is a reasonable principle. There is 
nothing dark, mysterious, or unintelligible in 
it nothing that he who values himself most 
upon the character of reason, has any cause to 
be ashamed of. It is not an enthusiastic prin- 
ciple that first gives being to dreams and visions,, 
and then supports itself upon imaginations of 
its own creating. It is not a supernatural im- 
pression proceeding from the immediate agency 
of God, capriciously bestowed where he pleases 
to bestow it, and denied where he wills it to 
be denied. It is not an inexplicable feeling 
of we know not what, conceived we know not 
how, and cherished we know not why : it is 
not the persuasion of any thing, whether good 
or evil, concerning either ourselves or any other 
3 



Faith a reasona hie 'principle. 1 5 

being, taken up without reason, and maintained 
upon principles that may not be duly specified 
and explained : it is not any sudden irradiation 
of the mind, proceeding from whatever cause ; 
for Faith is not more the especial gift of God, 
than sight ; it is equally the natural and ne- 
cessary result of the principles that compose the 
human frame. — To an eye duly formed, present 
any object of the visible world, and it is seen 
to a mind attentive and undepraved, propose 
the evidence concerning any truth that respects 
the world invisible, concerning either distant ob- 
jects, past transactions, or events yet to come, 
and in proportion to the strength of that evidence, 
it is believed. Whatever persuasion is taken up 
against evidence or without it, is blind pre- 
sumption, or romantic imagination^ and not 
Faith. 

Faith is as much the effect of evidence, as 
sight is the effect of sensible impression ; nor is 
the one more absolutely dependent on its cause, 
or more closely connected with it, than the 
other. It is a law of our nature, that in such 
and such circumstances, we shall see ; and it 
is as much a law of our nature, that in such 
and such circumstances, we shall believe. If 



1 6 Faith a reasonable principle. 

we will be judging of such visible things as 
are beyond the sphere of clear and distinct 
vision, no man would call these presumptuous 
fancies, however strongly we might be attached 
to them, sight; and in like manner, if we would 
be judging of things invisible, to which the light 
of evidence does not reach, no man should call 
these visions of imagination, Faith; they are 
both of them the reveries of a capricious or dis- 
ordered mind ; a partial frenzy, which only 
requires to be extended to a greater multitude of 
objects, to render the perversion of our under- 
standings both manifest and deplorable. — What 
sight is in the natural world, with respect to 
things visible and present, Faith is in the spiri- 
tual world, with respect to things absent and 
invisible ; to believe, on sufficient evidence, is 
as natural as to perceive; and in thus believing, 
there is nothing more unreasonable, inexpli- 
cable, or indefensible, than in seeing with our 
open eyes the prospect that presents itself be- 
fore us. 

Faith then is a principle no more peculiar 
to religion in general, than it is peculiar to the 
Christian religion in particular. Even those who 
most affect to treat it with ridicule and con- 



Faith a reasonable principle, 1 7 

tempt in the disciples of Christ, are themselves 
obliged, and they are satisfied with the obliga- 
tion, to act upon it every day and every hour of 
their lives : it is the very principle which, in 
the ordinary affairs of life, regulates and governs 
by far the greater part of their thoughts, their 
affections, and their conduct. 

Do they really know every thing that they 
think they know, in their domestic, their com- 
mercial, or their civil concerns and occupations ? 
Let them examine those things of which they 
have the firmest persuasion, as they think the 
most infallible certainty, and they will find very 
few of them that are objects of sense or con- 
sciousness : they are not known, they are only 
believed. 

Do they know, that the food to which they 
are sat down is safe and salutary ? or do they 
refuse to partake of what they have not with 
their own hands prepared, for fear of disgracing 
the character of reason? — Do they know that 
the medicine administered to them in sickness, 
is composed of useful or innocent ingredients ? 
do they know that these are faithfully prepared, 
and judiciously combined ? or, for fear of doing 
an unreasonable thing, for fear of exposing them- 
selves to ridicule or censure, do they refuse to 

G 



I S Faith a reasonable principle. 

take it till they have carefully examined the 
composition, and have themselves been witness 
of the effects, in experiments on others ? 

They sit down at night, planning schemes 
of business or of pleasure for the morrow ; laying 
themselves, it may be, under obligations and en- 
gagements for a long time to come : Do they see 
the sun hastening to bring back the returning 
day ? do they know that the scythe of death is 
yet far distant from them ? are they certain what 
a day may bring forth ? can they see through the 
darkness of the night, what shall be on the mor- 
row ? — -Does any man deny obedience to the 
civil powers because he has never seen them? 
Does the tradesman act unreasonably in pre- 
preparing his merchandize before he sees the 
buyer coming ? Is it any mark of weakness 
or of folly in him, that he buys, with no better 
security that he shall sell again, than what he 
may know in general respecting the wants, the 
dispositions, and the customs of mankind ? Is 
it any thing ridiculous for the merchant to send 
orders to distant countries, for commodities 
which he has been only told, by those who have 
only heard, and who perhaps are themselves in- 
terested in making the declaration, that such 
commodities are produced there ? Must he go 



Faith a reasonable principle. 1 9 

himself to the ends of the earth, before he can 
with any degree of reason transmit his mer- 
chandise into these countries, because he, has 
no other persuasion but what testimony has 
created in him, that there are agents there, who 
may be trusted to transact his business, and inha- 
bitants to consume, or use what he may send 
thither? Must the husbandman try his seed, 
before he can be justified in sowing it, and lose 
a season in experiments upon its fruitfulness, 
before he can reasonably venture on the expect 
tation of a harvest from it ? 

In all these, and in a thousand other instances, 
Faith is the principle upon which men resolve 
and act ; there is no other principle that has so 
constant and extensive an influence upon them. 
You cannot even go to a place where you have 
never been, but it is by Faith you go thither. You 
cannot seek a person you have never seen, but it 
is by Faith you seek him : the most trivial and 
most important actions of our lives are almost 
all equally dependent on it. 

Even our moral conduct, in the most serious 
and most momentous instances, rests on Faith 
as its foundation. For if Faith be an unreason- 
able principle of action, if it be not a sufficient 

C 2 



f 0 Faith a reasonable principle. 

ground to go upon, then it is most undoubtedly 
an unreasonable and unjustifiable thing, for any 
man to entertain the sentiments of filial affec- 
tion, or fraternal love. If we disgrace our na- 
ture, when we act upon the principle of faith 
and yield to the evidence of testimony, then is it 
a disgrace to nature, for any man to honour and 
obey another, as his parent; we do ourselves 
injustice when we own ourselves to be their child- 
ren who call us such, and we are guilty, if not 
of a crime, yet at least of an absurdity, when we 
cultivate a peculiar tenderness towards any who 
were born before us, under the idea that it is 
a sister or a brother for whom we cultivate this 
respect, and to whom, on account of this con- 
nexion it is due from us. 

Sense and experience, is confined within very 
narrow limits. The objects to which our know- 
lege can extend are very few ; when the sphere 
of our affection and activity go beyond these, 
it is Faith, not knowledge, that carries out 
our views, our passions, and pursuits ; it is- Faith 
that directs, supports, and animates them. He 
who should resolve that his practice should go 
no farther than his knowledge, that he would 

believe nothing, that he would suffer no desires 

2 



Faith a, reasonable principle, 2 1 

to rise in his heart; and no actions to proceed 
from him, but upon the conviction of his own 
experience, would in effect resolve to lead a 
a life so extremely ridiculous and uncomfortable, 
that it ought to be reckoned among its best cir- 
cumstances, that if he kept his resolution, his 
Jife would in all probability be very short> 

Almost all the affairs of life are transacted 
upon the evidence of testimony and under the 
influence of Faith - 3 and yet mankind, in all the 
reproaches they have thrown one upon another, 
never thought that upon this account they could 
upbraid, or be upbraided. Even the most li- 
centious ridiculer of this principle, never dreamed 
that he was chargeable with weakness and ab- 
surdity for the influence that he allowed it to 
have over him, and would have joined as heartily 
in exposing him who totally disowned it in the 
affairs of this world, as him who abounded 
in it, in respect to the concerns of another. 

It is in matters of religion only that Faith 
is so weak, ridiculous, and absurd -> for there, 
instead of gratifying our irregular inclinations, 
it reproves them ; it calls away the attention of 
mankind from this present world ; it would 
moderate their attachment to it, and their ex- 

C 3 



22 Faith a reasonable principle. 

pectation from it, and would engage them in 
the pursuit of the invisible and futute things 
of another world ^ things in themselves indeed 
more important, but not so well suited to the 
taste of the ambitious, the sensual, or the carnal 
mind. But does the dislike of them destroy 
their reality ? Does it annihilate the evidence of 
these things ? Is it the less certain that they. are, 
or that they will be, because the men of this 
world are less willing to believe them ? Does the 
reasonableness of Faith diminish, as the import- 
ance of its objects rises ? Is it reasonable to act 
upon it in respect of this present life, and not in 
respect of that which is to come ? Is it right that 
we should be guided and governed by it in re- 
gard to the transitory trifles of this present state, 
and right also that we should disclaim and resist 
it, in regard to the infinitely more important in- 
terests of that which is unchangeable and ever- 
lasting ? 

If there be a world invisible ; if there be a 
future state into which we are, ere long, to be 
removed,— if the powers of that world invisible 
be favourably or unfavourably disposed towards 
us according to our conduct in the present, — and 
moreover, if our condition in that future state. 



Faith a reasonable principle, 2$ 

will depend upon the preparation we make for 
it in this, what is the evidence that should de- 
termine us to regard these things ? The evidence 
of sense is excluded by the very nature of the 
objects ; if this were to be obtained, they could 
not then be invisible and future ; the evidence, 
of testimony is all the evidence we can obtain 
of such objects, and having this, is it right to 
treat them as chimeras ? to forget, to overlook, 
or to despise them, as the unsubstantial fictions 
of a wild imagination ?— -We could only treat 
them thus, if we were conscious that they were 
the dreams of our own fancy, and that we had 
no evidence at all concerning them. If it be 
unjustifiable to give no attention to those things^ 
which if they have a being, are most deeply in- 
teresting to us, and of the existence of which we 
have all the evidence that the nature of them 
will admit, then, our faith in these things can 
be no matter of reproach to us it is a just and 
reasonable principle.— Will it bear a doubt who 
acts the wiser part, he ? who resisting the evi- 
dence of an invisible and future world divests 
himself of all concern about it, or he, who 
yielding to the evidence of its reality, attends to 
it, expects it, and forms his life upon the expec- 
tation. C 4 



24 Faith a reasonable principle. 

Can it be reasonable to distrust that principle 
in regard to the invisible and future things of the 
eternal world, which we rely upon, which we 
act upon, in regard to the invisible and future 
things of the present ? What is there that should 
^nake a difference ? If the testimony in the one 
case be as credible as the testimony in the other, 
the Faith is in both circumstances alike reason- 
able, and he who yields it in the one, and with- 
holds it in the other, who, either in word or 
deed, in the one case countenances and approves, 
and in the other, vilifies and depreciates it, has 
no cause to value himself upon the reasonable- 
ness of his character, his own mouth accuseth 
him, and by his own conduct he is condemned. 

Whatever evidence, either in kind or in degree, 
determines us to regard what is not yet sensible 
and present in this earthly scene, and to make 
them in any respect the objects of our attention 
and pursuit, ought in all reason to determine us to 
pay a like regard to such objects as belong to any 
other scene of being, and to give them a just 
preportion of our care and labour, according to 
their worth. 

We may even venture to say more 5 the con- 
duct of mankind with respect to the futurities 



Faiih a reasonable principle, 25 

of this life, justifies it. It is not only reasonable 
that we should embrace the futurities of another 
world upon the same kind and the same degree 
of evidence on which we embrace the futurities 
of this 3 it is reasonable that we should embrace 
them even upon less evidence., and that our affec- 
tions and regard to them should be more lively, 
and our conduct in respect of them more vigor- 
ous and resolute, even though we have less 
reason in this instance to be satisfied with the 
testimony we have received concerning them, 
and more cause to apprehend that we may 
possibly be mistaken or deceived. A very light 
probability is sufficient to keep us upon our 
guard against a dreadful evil. It is expected, 
and reasonably expected, that it should do so. 
And on the other hand, it is universally acknow- 
ledged, that for a vast advantage, our cares 
and labours should be hazarded on a small assur- 
ance. The most circumspect and severest rea- 
son will readily allow, that if there be indeed 
any evidence of a future everlasting world, which 
shall succeed the present short and transitory 
scene, where all shall receive according to their 
works, whatever were the means and conditions 
of avoiding the evils and obtaining the blessings 



26 Faith a reasonable principle. 

of such a state, the infinite importance of the 
object, would in fact, to a mind well constituted 
and undepraved, and upon every mind ought 
in all reason to make up what might be want- 
ing in the evidence to complete the certainty 
of the evidence of such a state, and to give it 
all its influence upon our hearts and conduct. 
This effect it ought to produce whatever might 
be the terms of inheriting this expected happi- 
ness ; but if these terms are nothing more than 
a strict avoidance of those evils which prudence 
would forbid even in consideration of the present 
world, what shall we say of the wisdom of 
those who affect to despise, or neglect to at- 
tend to them ? 

These considerations perhaps are more than 
sufficient to illustrate, as well as to evince the pro- 
position laid down, that Faith is a reasonable prin- 
ciple. To these I would subjoin the following re- 
marks which are clearly deducible from the subject. 

1. Since Faith is a reasonable principle, we 
have no cause to be ashamed of it. Does any 
man make it the subject of ridicule ? There, will 
be no difficulty in convincing others at least, 
if not himself, that he is more ridiculous than 
the Christian believer ; for while he fancies that 



Faith a reasonable principle. 21 

he walks by sight, he is really governed by a 
Faith that argues much greater credulity. 

2. If Faith in general be a reasonable princU 
pie, how much more reasonable is the Christian's 
faith ? He derives his belief of invisible and future 
things from authority the most unquestionable ; 
warranted, not only by all the evidence that 
supports the faith of other men, but moreover 
by the evidence of prophecy and miracle. Flis 
faith requires of him no more than theirs, no 
more than reason acquiesces in, and it pro- 
duces much better authority for the demands it 
makes. 

3. It may not be improper to observe, 
that however natural and just the distinction 
between faith and reason, yet it ought not to be 
made without some caution and restriction. 
A great part of w T hat we ordinarily call reason, 
is indeed faith ; and faith is itself an act of 
reason. To believe upon sufficient testimony, 
is one among many other characteristics of 
reason and intelligence. 

4. If Faith be a reasonable principle, we 
should take care that we call nothing unrea- 
sonable by that name, lest we bring a reproach 
upon a principle that is so natural, and so 



2S Faith a reasonable principle. 

useful, and so important to the happiness of 
man. Whatever has not evidence to justify 
it, is prejudice, is presumption, it may be called 
by any name of folly, it is not Faith. Let us 
sift our opinions concerning things invisible 
whether past, present, or future, and let us at 
least so far separate the chafT from the wheat, 
as to give the name of Faith, to nothing that has 
not the support of argument. 

5. If Faith be a reasonable principle, we 
need not be suspicious of any means that are 
proposed to confirm us in it : can we be too 
well established in what is just and right ? And 
lastly, 

6. If Faith be a reasonable principle, we 
need not be afraid of pursuing it through all 
its consequences. Nothing but what is right 
can come of what is reasonable ; it must be 
diverted from its natural course, or corrupted 
by some foreign intermixture, before it can dic- 
tate or induce to what is wrong. If our 
Faith be the pure result of evidence, it will 
give us comfort, and do us honour, to show 
it in our works, 



Faith a reasonable principle. 



PRAYER. 

Holy, holy, holy Lord God almighty, who art, 
and wast, and art to come. Glory and honour and 
thanks be unto him that sitteth upon the throne 
and who liveth for ever and ever ! Thou art worthy 
O Lord to receive glory and honour and power, 
for thou hast created all things, and of thy good 
pleasure they are and were created. The invi- 
sible things of God from the creation of the 
world are clearly seen, being understood by the 
things that are made, even the Maker's eternal 
power and godhead, so that they are without 
excuse, who having such discoveries of God, 
and such evidences that he is the former of their 
bodies, and the father of their spirits, and the 
author of their enjoyments, glorify him not 
as God, and are not thankful. May our faith 
be that holy active principle that purifies the 
heart, that works by love, and overcomes the 
present world. May the word of Christ dwell 
richly in us with all wisdom ; may we be led 
to a more perfect acquaintance with the truth 
as it is in Jesus, and by that truth may we 
be sanctified. As we draw nearer unto heaven, 
rnay we become more heavenly-minded, more 



30 Faith a reasonable principle. 

assimilated to those pure and holy spirits that 
reside there, and more meet to partake with 
them in their employments and their happi- 
ness. While we are in the world in well do- 
ing, and in the exercise of a firm and lively 
faith we would humbly commend the keeping 
of our souls and the disposal of all our affairs 
unto thee. 

May we not be governed by things seen and 
temporal, but by a just regard to those that are 
unseen and everlasting ; and may that Faith 
which is the substance of things hoped for, and 
the evidence of things not seen, preserve us 
that we yield not to the temptations to which 
we are exposed, and animate us so resolutely 
to resist the world when the things of the world 
would either deter or allure us from our duty, 
that finally we may come orf more than con- 
querors through him who loved us. 



( 31 ) 



DISCOURSE III. 

FAITH A DESIRABLE AND IMPORTANT 
PRINCIPLE. 

Hebrews xi. 1. 

FAITH IS THE SUBSTANCE OF THINGS HOPED FOR, THI 
EVIDENCE OF THINGS UNSEEN. 

FaITH is that principle through which we ap- 
prehend the existence of invisible things, whether 
past, present, or future, or which stands instead 
of the perception of such things, as in our pre- 
sent circumstances, or with our present powers, 
cannot be perceived. It is therefore a most 
desirable and important principle, because it 
is suited to the wants and imperfections of the 
human mind. 

If the human mind were net so constituted, as 
to rely upon testimony when it is not attended 
with suspicious circumstances, that is, to be ca- 
pable of Faith, the experience of former ages 
would have been of small advantage to their sue- 



32 Faith a desirable 

cessors. In many instances we should have been 
deprived of those improvements which we now 
assume as the foundation of our own ; and the 
generations of mankind, which are now from 
age to age extending their improvements, would, 
like the successive generations of the inferior 
creatures, have borne a great resemblance to 
each other. Each generation would have had 
just such a portion of knowledge respecting 
the world in which they lived, of the nature 
they possest, and of the laws by which both 
were respectively governed, as might result from 
their own observation, and very little more. 
Besides, the curiosity of the human mind con- 
cerning things to come, is so great and power- 
ful, that it has in all ages and in all countries en- 
gaged the weak and credulous, and sometimes, 
even those who were in -reputation for wisdom 
and honour, in the most absurd practices in 
order to arrive at some knowledge of them. 
Is it not then desirable, is it not important to 
the peace and comfort of mankind that all vain 
imaginations, and groundless conjectures, and 
perplexing doubts concerning future things 
should be banished from their mind, by re- 
ceiving and entertaining the just impressions 



and important Principle, 33 

to be derived from credible information con- 
cerning such of them as it is most important 
for us to be acquainted with? accompanied 
with an assurance, upon the same authority, 
that no other futurities can by any means what- 
ever be discovered by us ? 

It is nothing improbable that there may be 
a vast variety of events to come, in which we 
have the greatest interest ; and the very possi- 
bility that it may be so, renders it a desirable 
circumstance that we should be well instructed 
and rationally persuaded concerning what we 
are to expect* We are to die, and rise again, 
and be judged* The certainty of these events- 
depends not at all upon our persuasion con- 
cerning them ; though we had wrought our- 
selves into the most confident assurance that 
these things should never come to pass, the 
decree of the Almighty would not thereby be 
altered* No man can doubt that, being mor- 
tal, it is important for him to believe that he 
shall die : can it then be less important, is it 
less momentous, that the moral subjects of God's 
kingdom should believe that they are account- 
able to him for all their conduct ? Is it de- 
sirable that the faithful Christian should have 

D 



34 Faith a desirable 

no knowledge of the glories and felicities to 
which he is hereafter to be promoted ? That 
he should carefully defend himself against ali 
hope from a world to come, and should treat 
the most credible testimony concerning it as 
the dreams and, fictions of a seducing imagina- 
tion ? Is it desirable that the sinner should have 
no suspicion of the dreadful sentence that is 
to be pronounced upon him ; that he should 
carelessly overlook, or industriously shun, or ob- 
stinately resist, whatever might lead him to such 
an expectation ? that he should treat it as a 
vain alarm, the suggestion of groundless terror, 
the creature of a timid and disordered fancy? 
If this is not desirable, then is Faith a most 
salutary and important principle. Again, 

Faith is a desirable and important principle, 
as it introduces us to a fund of the most de- 
lightful entertainment. 

Every thing is desirable that is a source of 
true pleasure ; every thing is important that 
contributes to the best enjoyment even of this 
present life.— When we best enjoy the circum- 
stances in which God hath placed us, our 
views of life are most comfortable to ourselves, 
and most honourable to its Author ; our sense 



and important Principle. 35 

of obligation to him is more lively, and our 
obedience to his laws more cheerful. Then 
too, when we best enjoy our own circum- 
stances, we shall be best enjoyed by those 
about us ; and our services will be most freely 
and most effectually extended towards' them 
also. It is not therefore unimportant to consult, 
in any instance, the comfort of our present 
being ; it is desirable, not only for itself, but 
also for its effects and consequences : if there- 
fore Faith had nothing else to recommend it 
but, that being in itself reasonable, it admi- 
nistered to our entertainment and delight, it 
must be owned to be a desirable and im- 
portant principle. 

Setting aside every other consideration but that 
of pleasure, of agreeable and comfortable contem- 
plation to employ the leisure and to soothe the 
cares of life, would it be desirable to change con- 
ditions, if we could do it, with him who knows 
nothing of an unseen world, nothing of the great 
scheme of Providence, nothing of the primeval 
history, and nothing of the future fates of men ? 
Would we wish that our pleasures should, like his, 
be contracted within what eye can see, ear can 
hear, and hand can reach ?— Would we choose 

D2 



36 Faith a desirable 

that all the sweet, the awful, the magnificent, 
and interesting scenes that Faith reveals to us, 
should for ever be blotted out from the thoughts 
and imaginations of our hearts ? Were it de- 
sirable that our souls should never more be 
suspended in astonishment, or elevated into joy, 
or melted into tenderness by the great and im- 
portant objects that Faith presents to our view ? 
Whose Is, or rather perhaps the question ought 
to be, whose might be the happier life; ours, 
to whom these things are discovered by the 
light of Faith, if knowing them we attend to 
them and feel their due influence, or his, to 
whom nothing is revealed but the immediate 
objects of his sense, — from whom all the future 
scenes of the divine government, and every ob- 
ject of the world invisible, are concealed in 
clouds and darkness ? 

Is it pleasant to have the mind extended to the 
utmost stretch of its capacities, raised into im- 
portant expectation, or suspended in astonishment 
and reverence ? It is : and what is there more ca- 
pable of exciting these sentiments of wonder and 
delight than the contemplation of an universe 
rising into being at the word of God, taking all 
its infinite vicissitudes and changes from his com- 

3 



and important Principle. 37 

mand; by him conducted through innumerable 
revolutions, during an immense series of count- 
less ages and generations ? What is there more 
capable of exciting these pleasing sentiments, 
than to compare together the primeval state, the 
present condition, and the possible catastrophe of 
this world ? to contemplate that important day 
when God spake and it was done, through 
all its various consequences, to that solemn 
moment when he shall speak again, and the 
heavens shall melt away, and the earth and all that 
is therein shall be burnt up, and new heavens and 
a new earth shall arise from that prolific flame ? 

Is there no more entertainment to an in- 
telligent spectator, no more consolation to a 
heart of sensibility in beholding the universe as 
an eternal monument of the greatness and the 
goodness of its Maker, than in contemplating 
it merely as a great and vast object, ignorant 
of its origin and dependence ? than in wander- 
ing in the doubtful maze of a vain imagination, 
fluctuating from uncertainty to uncertainty con- 
cerning it? Is it more comfortable, is it more 
delightful to look upon the universe as a vessel 
without a governor, driven we know not whi- 
ther, by we know not what, subject in all its 

D3 



ss F a ith a desirable 

parts to perpetual accidents and unexpected 
revolutions, which its wisest and most power- 
ful inhabitants can neither control nor regu- 
late ; than to consider it as being under the 
direction of an able and skilful pilot, whose coun- 
sels, though we cannot in every instance fathom 
them, are nevertheless, in every instance, wise 
and kind ?— of a governor, who guides and go- 
verns all events, and causes all the various 
vicissitudes and revolutions we behold, to work 
together for the highest and most lasting good ? 
Which is the most comfortable thought, whe- 
ther we regard ourselves, or others ? which is 
the most delightful and elevating contemplation I 
In the past transactions of divine providence, 
how interesting and delightful is it to contem- 
plate the illustration of this great and momen- 
tous truth, the universal providence and go- 
vernment of God, whether as it respects fami- 
lies, individuals, or nations ? Shall I adduce as 
an example, that cruel combination, when the 
sons of Jacob saw, but did not feel the anguish 
of a brother's soul, and heard, but repented 
not, when a brother sued to them for mercy ? 
Need I tell you what the father felt, and thought, 
and said, or describe to you the sentiments with 



and important Principle. 39 

which the son looked back unto his father's 
house, and forward to a long captivity ? Do 
you need to have the sequel of this story 
told you ? That unrighteous imprisonment, that 
unexpected exaltation, that tender interview, 
that astonishing discovery, or those pleasing, 
approvable and salutary emotions they excited ? 
Do you require to be informed, that the hand 
of God was in all this? Or, while you see 
his secret providence over-ruling the jealousies 
and vices, as well as the sufferings of some, in 
•such manner as to issue in the benefit of all; 
accomplishing their settlement in that very coun- 
try, where, in consequence of the progress that art 
and knowledge had previously made there, they 
might be instructed and improved ; a country of 
general resort; and on that account, as well as 
on many others, the most proper theatre for the 
display of that mighty hand, and outstretched 
arm by which the sovereignty of the God of 
Israel should be demonstrated; while you see 
the secret providence of God in that very event, 
of which Jacob said, that it would bring down 
his grey hairs with sorrow to the grave, pro- 
viding at once for the preservation of that fa- 
mily, for the peace and policy of a great empire, 

D 4 



40 Faith a desirable 

for the most public and effectual rebuke of ido- 
latry and superstition, and for the most proper 
circumstances of erecting Israel into a peculiar 
people, who should preserve and spread the 
knowledge of the true God 5 while you see 
the hand of God in this event, at the time when . 
it came to pass, apparently an accidental thing, 
a mere domestic occurrence, pursuing such va- 
rious ends, promoting such important purposes., 
and bestowing such great and extensive be- 
nefits, does it give no pleasure to your hearts 1 
Does it awaken there no pious admiration, no 
sweet composure in the character, no sacred 
triumph in the government of God ?— so ex- 
cellent in counsel, so wonderful in working ; in 
all his ways as gracious as he is great, abundant 
in mercy, and glorious in holiness, even when 
clouds and darkness intercept from us the irra- 
diations of that glory ! — Does it excite in you 
no sentiments of joyful sympathy and congratu- 
lation towards the subjects of so wise, and 
powerful, and beneficent a King ? Does it not 
encourage you to trust in God ? Does it create 
in you nothing of that delightful tranquillity 
that results from the conviction that you and 
your affairs are in his hands, and from the de- 
vout resignation of all your interests to him ? 



and important Principle. 41 

In all these transactions how different were the 
views of Jacob and his children from the views 
of God? Their judgments and sentiments re- 
specting them, were formed only by the things 
that were seen and present with them : how 
different an aspect do they now assume to us 
who see their importance as a part of the great 
plan of providence ; whose views, in reflecting 
on them, approach so much nearer to the views 
of divine providence in conducting these events, 
and who see so much more than they could 
discover of the great ends and objects which 
they were intended and calculated to produce ? — 
How pleasant is it, by the light of Faith, to 
compare these different views together, to pur- 
sue the contemplations which that comparison 
suggests, and to cultivate and indulge the affec- 
tions they call forth ? 

When we carry forward our thoughts unto 
futurity, we are compelled to believe, that there 
is a day, not very distant, which shall be marked 
by our funerals, when our bodies shall be sealed 
up in the grave. Should we anticipate that 
day with greater pleasure if we believed that 
the pains and weaknesses which usually lead 



42 Faith a desirable 

thither, would be our last sensations ? If we 
believed that when once the dust to which we 
were going had received us, we should know 
and be known no more for ever? Could 
we think with greater pleasure of retiring 
out of this world, if we were ignorant, if 
we were dubious, whether there were any 
other scene of being to succeed it ? Would the 
vale of death exhibit to us a more pleasing 
prospect, if it did not open into another and 
a more important world ? Could we go with 
greater satisfaction to lay our pious parents, our 
w 7 orthy friends, or cur virtuous children in the 
grave, if we thought that we had then bid 
adieu to them for ever ? Could we stand with 
so much serenity by the death-bed of the just, if 
we dared not to encourage our imaginations in 
following them into nobler life, and to a better 
world, where ten thousand times ten thousand 
happy spirits are rejoicing in the friendship of 
their Maker, and whose number it may be is 
every moment receiving new accessions ? if we 
knew nothing of the new Jerusalem, of God, of 
Christ, and the innumerable company of angels 
to which all just men, when they have left this 
fleshly tabernacle, shall be for ever united t 



and important Principle. 43 

No, my friends :— it is Faith to which we owe 
the most cordial consolations, under the heaviest 
pressures of mortality : it is Faith to which we are 
indebted for our sublimest pleasures ; for it is 
Faith that discovers to us our virtuous prede- 
cessors exalted into all the happiness we could 
desire for them. It is Faith that teaches us to 
look upon this life, noble as is the rank we hold 
in the present world, and great as are the blessings 
We enjoy in it, as nothing more than the seedtime 
of human being, the school of our education, 
the childhood of our existence ; and it is Faith 
that enables us to antedate the happiness of that 
better state where our labours shall be recom- 
pensed by the noblest harvest, and our nature 
shall arrive at its full maturity and perfection. 

Are these the pleasures and the consolations 
that arise from Faith? Is it not then a most 
desirable and important principle ? Regarding 
only the comforts and enjoyments of this present 
state, what other source of consolation or of 
pleasure can you find that deserves to be brought 
into comparison with it ? — The eternity to come ! 
what an interesting discovery ! how sweet ! how 
consolatory ! how full of heartfelt satisfaction ! — 
To find ourselves with all the virtuous friends 



44 Faith a desirable 

we have ever loved on earth* with all the faith- 
ful servants of God who have gone before us, 
redeemed from the power of sin and death, re- 
fined from every imperfection, exalted above 
every evil, and for ever settled in the presence 
of God ! how transporting the expectation ! 

Take care, Christian, that thy faith be some- 
thing more than a principle of pleasure ; let it 
so influence the whole of thy conduct, that finally 
thou mayest obtain an abundant entrance into that 
better world, where, though Love shall for ever 
live, yet Faith and Hope, having answered the 
important purposes for which they were given, 
shall give place to certainty and happiness. 



PRAYER. 



Worthy art thou, O Lord God Almighty, to 
receive the profoundest adorations, and the most 
perfect services of all thine intelligent creation !— 
From thy good pleasure all things derive their 
being ; by thy wisdom they were originally dis- 
posed in that harmonious order in which we now 
behold them ; and it is by thy decree that they 



and important Principle. 45 

retain it. Thy providence it is that ordereth all 
events, and we have the most comfortable assur- 
ance, that all things shall work together for good 
to those who love thee and obey thee. 

We bless thy name, that by endowing us with 
the principles of reason and of faith, thou hast 
made us capable of knowing whence all our 
comforts flow. We adore thee as the fountain 
of life and blessedness, we thank thee for all the 
happiness we see around us, and ^or the 
large share that we ourselves have had in 
the general felicity. But above all we praise 
and magnify thy name for the glorious prospects 
and transporting expectations which Faith opens 
to our view. As children of the light and of 
the day, may our conversation be in Heaven; 
may our character and conduct be always such 
as becomes the citizens of the New Jerusalem, 
and members of that glorious community that is 
composed of the innumerable company of Angels, 
and all the spirits of the just made perfect, and 
Jesus the Mediator of the New Covenant, and 
God the Judge of all! As we wish, when the 
days of the years of our pilgrimage are over, to 
be received to dwell with them where the} are, 
may we steadily adhere to those principles of 



46 Faith a desirable, 2(c, 

piety, and purity, and charity, which constitute 
their happiness and glory ; and may the hope of 
this blessed union, support, and comfort, and re- 
joice our spirits under ail the labours and trials 
of this present state. 



( 47 ) 



DISCOURSE IV. 

THE UNREASONABLENESS AND POLLY OF 
UNDUE ANXIETY. 



Philippians iv. 6. 

BE CAREFUL FOR NOTHING. — 

We are made with a capacity of extending out 
thoughts into futurity. Almost all our occupations 
have some respect to what is yet to come, and 
every hour has some influence upon all the hours 
that come after it. We know this by experience 5 
and such is our propensity to look beyond the 
present, that it is impossible we should not fre- 
quently be figuring to ourselves, what it may be 
leading on. Hence, as on the one hand we are 
apt to flatter ourselves with vain and groundless 
hopes, which in the end must frequently betray 
us into the bitterest disappointments 3 so on the 
other hand, in other circumstances we are apt to 
afflict ourselves with cares and anxieties no less 
vain and groundless, by the anticipation of dis- 
stresses, with which the providence of God per- 



48 The unreasonableness and Folly 

haps did not mean to exercise us $ or, if he did, 
never meant that they should torment us before 
their time. It is against such anxieties and cares, 
that the apostle would guard us in the text ; not 
against the exercise, but against the abuse and 
misapplication of that capacity which God has 
implanted in us, of apprehending the future con- 
sequences of present things ; against the abuse of 
that propensity to which he has determined us* 
to descry them, if it can be, from afar. 

That we should be able to apprehend what 
will be the consequences of our conduct, and 
that we should pay a serious regard to them, is 
necessary to the faithful discharge of our duty : if 
we neglect to consider these things, we shall 
be betrayed into perpetual offences against vir- 
tue, as well as against prudence; against God, 
and against our own souls. Hope and fear, 
are both of them natural passions, implanted 
in our frame by that Almighty hand, by which 
we are so fearfully and wonderfully made ; they 
cannot, and if they could, they ought not, to be 
rooted out. But the objects of hope and fear are 
future things; each of them a species of care 
about futurities ; and while these cares are re- 
strained within proper bounds, we are neither re- 



of undue Anxiety, 49 

quired nor permitted to cast them off. These 
passions were designed, the one to beguile our 
labours, to animate our perseverance, and to 
sweeten the work of life ; the other, to put us 
upon our guard against approaching evils, to lead 
us to such measures, as according to the views 
of human prudence, in humble dependence upon 
the blessing and the providence of God, might be 
most effectual for our preservation or deliverance. 
While our cares about futurity are directed solely 
to this end, far from being guilty, they are innocent ; 
they are more than innocent, they are virtuous. 
Such cares about futurity, religion means not to 
censure or discourage : she approves of, she com- 
mends all attentions to the futurities of life that 
may have any influence to promote our future 
virtue, or our future comfort, — if they interfere not 
with the grateful sense, and the just acknowledg- 
ment of the mercies that attend us in the present 
hour, and withdraw us not from the duties which 
in that season are incumbent on us,- — nor disqualify 
us for the proper improvement of the talents 
which at that time are passing through our hands. 
They are the cares that stretch themselves out into 
futurity, to fetch multiplied and imaginary evils 
thence to increase and aggravate the distresses 
' - E 



SO The unreasonableness and Folly 

that are present ; the cares that antedate ap- 
proaching evils, and add thern to the sorrows of 
the passing day ; the cares that, in anticipating 
afflictions which probably are at hand, overlook 
the mercies with which a gracious providence 
will intermingle them ; the cares that look upon 
afflictions only on the gloomy side * which love 
to sit brooding over a melancholy and distressing 
scene ; which forget, that the counsels of God, 
though unsearchable, are not unkind ; and that 
though clouds and darkness are round about him, 
judgment and mercy are the supporters of his 
throne : — Cares, that tend to hard thoughts of 
God and Providence, that cool our admiration of 
the divine perfections, and damp our love of 
God > cares, that tempt us, if we dursr, to wish 
that our affairs were in our own disposal, and that 
would urge us, if we could, to reverse the decrees 
of Heaven ; cares, that generate impatience and 
ingratitude, that induce a gloomy and complain- 
ing spirit ; that render us inattentive to our obli- 
gations, or disqualify us to discharge them in the 
most acceptable manner :— -Cares, which are in- 
consistent with a lively faith in the providence 
of God, or a sincere concern to recommend our- 
selves to his blessing, which are as anxious, as if 



of undue Anxiety. 51 

he cared not for us, as irreligious and indevout, as 
if all our interests depended on ourselves ; cares 
about this mortal body and this present world, 
which exclude the more important cares that re- 
late to the prosperity of the soul and the interests 
of eternity. These are the cares that religion 
frowns upon, that the Apostle has forbidden, and 
which our own consciences, the moment we re- 
flect upon them, must condemn. " Be careful 
for nothing," says the Apostle, " but in every 
thing by prayer and supplication with thanks- 
giving, let your requests be made known unto 
God." 

It is obvious, on the most inattentive considera- 
tion, that the cares which are here forbidden, are 
such as do not vent themselves in acts of prayer 
and supplication ; such as do not lead us unto 
God with a becoming sense of our dependence on 
him, and with humble hope in his mercy. They 
are such cares as throw the mind into tumultuous 
agitation, and impatient restlessness t for imme- 
diately after our text, the Apostle adds, <: take 
the advice I here offer you," and " the peace of 
God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep 
your hearts and minds, through Christ Jesus/' 
Such cares, it is evident, ought by all means to be 



B2 The unreasonableness and Folly 

discouraged and repressed ; and if we have any 
regard either to our duty or our interest, we shall, 
keep our hearts with all diligence, that they ob- 
tain no admission there : For, 

In the first place, they can do no good ; the 
course of providence will proceed, be we willing 
or unwilling $ acquiescent or reluctant, we must 
bear the will of God. Afraid, or not afraid, the 
evils that are appointed us, will come upon us : 
solicitous, or not solicitous to escape it, whatever 
gall the hand of God has mingled in our cup, 
must be drank by us, even to the last drop. Do 
you see any pressing evil drawing near you ? ap- 
ply all the means that prudence recommends, 
and duty will permit, to repel, or to escape 
it ; apply them in dependence upon God's plea- 
sure and concurrence, from whom all means and 
instruments derive their power, efficacy, and 
success ; and who will not fail to grant you the 
deliverance which thus you seek, if that deliver- 
ance be good for you. And when you have done 
this, what more is there that you would do? 
what more is there that you can do ? All 
your anxieties and cares cannot change the coun- 
cils of God all your reluctance and opposition 
can make no alteration in his purposes ; and if 
they could be changed, it is not your disobedience 



of undue Anxiety. 5 5 

that is likely to make any change in them for the 
better. 

In the second place, the cares of which we 
speak, as they can do no good, so they must do 
much harm. They will hurt ourselves. By this 
means we run to meet the afflictions that await 
us, and so are in distress longer than God meant 
we should be. By this means we create to our- 
selves troubles which Divine Providence had not 
appointed for us, and are miserable in the antici- 
pation of things that shall never be. By this 
means w r e injure the health of our bodies, and im- 
pair the fortitude of our minds ; we prepare our- 
selves to be utterly overwhelmed by the calami- 
ties which we cannot avoid ; we incapacitate 
ourselves for the duties of those circumstances 
into which God is leading us, and the just im- 
provement of the talents he is about to put into 
our hands ; and at the same time, set ourselves 
out of the reach of those comforts with which he 
meant to cheer and uphold us, when the visitations 
that we dread shall come.— But this is net all. 
It is the testimony of universal experience, in re- 
spect to all calamities in general, that they are or- 
dinarily more terrible in prospect than in pre- 
sence 5 more insupportable in the apprehensions 

E 3 



54 The unreasonableness and Folly 

of imagination, than we find them when in reality 
we feel their pressure \ by our cares and anxieties 
therefore about ills to come, w r e suffer, not only 
longer continuance of affliction, but a more 
dreadful evil than Providence had prepared 
for us. 

Christian, what aileth thee ? adversity has made 
a visit to thy tabernacle ; affliction has cast her 
clouds upon thy dwelling 5 and sitting there, thou 
art often ruminating what will be the end of these 
things. Christian, take care that no undutiful 
anxieties arise ; that nothing inconsistent with 
thy faith and hope find admission into thy heart. 
Is not the evil of the day, sufficient to the day ? 
Is it needful to bring other accessory evils, which 
might perhaps have never come ? The visitations 
of God shall not overpower thee - } take heed that 
thy own imprudence do not. — But thou art say- 
ing, perhaps, <c How can I bear the loss of this 
comfort ? how can I bear the destruction of that 
hope?" Who told thee that that comfort should 
be lost ? who told thee that that hope should be 
destroyed ? — Thy comforts may be threatened, 
and yet not cut down j thy hopes may be blighted 
for a season, and yet not destroyed ; the delights 
of thine eyes may be sick, and yet that sickness 



of undue Anxiety. 55 

may not be unto death ; the desires of thine 
heart may ali be brought. to the borders of the 
grave, and yet all may be remanded thence. 
Secret things belong unto the Lord, who knoweth 
what mercies are in store for thee but if it 
should be as thy fears suggest, yet let hot thy 
virtue die before thy blessings. It will be some 
consolation in such trials if they come, that thou 
knowest thou hast all the security that thy sin- 
cerest consecration of them unto God, and thy 
steadiest resolution to improve and to form them 
to his glory, can procure thee. Thou hast not 
made shipwreck of Faith and a good conscience ; 
assure thyself, that according to thy afflictions 
shall thy consolations be ; all things shall work 
together for good to those who love God, and 
as thy day is, so shall be thy strength. 

But even this is not all ; anxieties and cares 
not only antedate and aggravate affliction, they 
will hurt our consciences when we come to 
look back upon them, and in the meantime 
they will displease our Maker, and bring down 
upon us, it may be, the very evils that create 
our cares, from which had our hearts been more 
resigned, and our temper less impatient, the 
arm of God in due time might have delivered us, 

E4 



56 The unreasonableness and Folly 

His mercies, it is probable, are dispensed ac- 
cording to our meetness to receive them : this 
indeed, in the present state of discipline, is not 
the only rule, but most certainly it does enter 
into those considerations on which the counsels 
of the divine mind are formed, and ought there- 
fore to be remembered by us in all the prayers 
that we address unto him, and in all the expec- 
tations that we build upon his mercy. — Con- 
sider these things, Christian ; in every hour of 
sorrow think on them, repress thy cares, and 
let thy soul return unto its rest. 

Let us remember moreover that these anxieties 
and solicitudes set a bad example. It cannot 
well happen but that in our afflictions, others too 
must be afflicted, and our dejections will deject 
them ; our diffidence and anxiety may communi- 
cate its contagion to their hearts, and we may in 
some measure have their guilt to answer for, as 
well as our own. They will hurt our religion 
too ; they will disgrace our Christian profession. 
Unbelievers may triumph in our weakness as an 
argument of the impotence of our religion— 
what is a Christian more than other men, or 
what his Faith more excellent or more useful, 
than our infidelity ? 



of undue Anxiety. 57 

So vain are the cares that religion requires 
us to cast off, so mischievous the anxieties she 
condemns; they take away from us our ^ - 
forts while yet we might enjoy them ; they hurry 
us into distresses while yet we might decline 
them; they protract the continuance of our 
afflictions; they multiply the number of our- 
sorrows, and they aggravate the degree of our 
sufferings ; they make the present wretched for 
no other reason, but because it is possible the fu- 
ture may be so ; they hurt both our bodies and 
our souls ; they injure our friends as well as our- 
selves ; they disqualify us to receive the com- 
forts which Providence ever intermingles with 
its most afflictive dispensations ; and incapa- 
citate us to discharge the duties, not only of 
the circumstances in which we at present are, 
but of those which will be required of us when 
they arrive. Interfering with the discharge of 
duty, they are themselves undutiful and irre- 
ligious ; they add sin to sorrow. 

But let not the faithful Christian infer from 
hence, that all painful forethoughts are cri- 
minal anxieties ; God distinguishes between in- 
firmities and sins : let the Christian learn for 
his own comfort to distinguish between them 



&$ The unreasonableness and Folly 

too. If be knows, that he would not, if he 
couid, reverse one decree of God, however pain- 
ful and distressing to him ; if he knows that he 
would not, if he could, accomplish his most 
darling hope at the expense of the divine ap- 
probation s if he knows that he would not, if 
lie could, save his most precious blessing by for- 
feiting his Maker's friendship -> let him be as- 
sured that God remembers his frame, and ex- 
pects not that he should put off his nature. 
God will compassionate his frailties ; he will 
overlook the starting tear, and forgive the invo- 
luntary sigh. Let him make it his endeavour 
to be " careful for nothing," and God will ap- 
prove and bless him. Let him in every thing 
by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving, 
make known his requests unto God, and he may 
hope, that " the peace of God which passeth 
understanding shall keep his heart and mind 
through Christ Jesus." 

PRAYER. 

O Lord God almighty, thou art the creator 
of the ends of the earth, who faintest not, neither 
art weary. Thou madest us and not we our- 
selves, we are thy people and the sheep of thy 



of undue Anxiety* 

pasture, thou formedst our bodies out of the 
dust of the earth, thou breathedst into them the 
breath of life, and thine inspiration hath given 
us understanding. This life we know is a 
changeable and imperfect scene, in which all 
our comforts and delights are exposed to per- 
petual danger. May no anxiety respecting the 
future interfere with our thankfulness for present 
blessings, or at all impede our alacrity, diligence, 
and zeal in thy service. May our hearts be 
fixed, trusting in thee, who will not suffer us 
to want the strength that is needful to our day. 
Encouraged by all that we see around us of thine 
infinite goodness, — by our own experience of thy 
past care and kindness, we would in well do- 
ing commit all our future interests unto thee ; 
we would dismiss all anxiety and care, and 
would cast our burdens on the Lord, resigned 
unto his will, and rejoicing in his fatherly pro- 
tection. 

In whatever state we are, may we there- 
with be content : May it be our only solici- 
tude, to discharge in the most acceptable man- 
ner, all the duties of every circumstance into 
which thy providence may lead us ; and though 
the fig-tree should not blossom, nor fruit be 



60 The unreasonableness and Folly, &(c. 

in the vine, though the labour of the olive 
should fail, and the fields should yield no meat ; 
though the flock should be cut off from the 
fold, and there be no herd in the stall; though 
this world's comforts should entirely fail, sup- 
ported by the testimony of our conscience, and 
the exceeding great and precious promises of 
God, may we still rejoice in the Lord for ever, 
and joy in the God of our salvation! 

■ 



• 



t €1 ) 



DISCOURSE V. 

ON THE DUTY OF JOINING THANKSGIVING 
WITH PRAYER IN TIME OF AFFLICTION. 

PART I. 
, Philippians iv. 6. 

IN EVERY THING BY PRAYER AND SUPPLICATION, WITH 
THANKSGIVING MAKE KNOWN YOUR REQUESTS UNTO 
GOD. 

PrAYER is the natural language of fear and 
trouble ; while they know no change, it often 
happens, that men fear not God — afflictions send 
them to him. When dangers and distresses have 
convinced them of their own weakness, and of 
the vanity of all human aid, then they cry unto 
the Lord to give them help from trouble ; they 
are no longer able to resist the conviction of their 
absolute dependence upon him ; no longer will- 
ing to dispute the propriety of addressing them- 
selves to him 3 no longer capable of stifling the 



62 On the Duty of joining Thanksgiving 

propensities of nature, or of restraining the 
homage that they owe to the great Maker and 
Ruler of the world. In times of trouble, then, 
prayer to God is as natural as it is right : But 
who can sing the songs of praise under the clouds 
of sorrow, and amidst the waters of affliction ? 
What connection is there betweeeh thanksgiving 
and distress ? What could move the apostle to 
inculcate this duty upon those that are in trouble ? 
When we are delivered out of trouble, thanks- 
giving is undoubtedly of especial obligation ; and 
prayer and supplication, while our troubles last ; 
but why is it required of us to mingle thanks- 
giving with our prayers in the day of our afflic- 
tion ?— A multitude of reasons will suggest them- 
selves to any one who will seriously consider the 
question ; give me leave, briefly, to mention a 
few. 

1. We may observe in general, that afflictions 
are not evils. Let me not be mistaken ; I mean 
not to deny that nature shrinks from them 5 I 
mean not to insinuate, that we can by any means 
render ourselves insensible to pain and sorrow ; 
I speak not of the present pressure of affliction, 
but with respect to the future consequences of 
■present suffering ; with respect to the moral in- 



with Prayer in Time of Affliction, 6$ 

Alienees of adversity, with respect to the fair and 
the abundant fruits of holiness and happiness 
which by faith, and patience, and diligence, II 
may be made to yield. I speak with regard to 
the whole, both of our condition and our existence; 
and when it is asserted that afflictions are not 
evils, it is meant that without them we should 
have less comfort in this present scene of things 9 
or, fewer advantages in our power with respect 
to that eternal state which is soon to succeed it : 
they do, or at least if it is not our own fault they 
may, advance our interests upon the whole, and 
therefore are not upon the whole, evils. There 
is no evil being that has any thing to do in the go- 
vernment of the world ; it is ruled by the God 
of love Our sharpest pains, our severest anguish^ 
are not the cruelties of a malignant principle,, 
they are not the barbarous sport of an insensible 
and wanton mind. They are not blown to us by 
the wind of chance, nor borne down upon us by 
the torrent of an unintelligent and irresistible 
destiny ; they are the gracious visitations of our 
heavenly Father, without whom, not a sparrow 
falleth to the ground, nor a hair from the human 
head. We call them evils, and yet they come 
from the pure and incorruptible fountain of all 



64 On the Duty of joining Thanksgiving 

good ; and it is with the kindest intention that 
they are sent to us. Did we see with the eyes of 
God, we should call them all blessings ; for they 
are all alike capable of being converted by us to 
our interest, and all alike intended to do us good. 
If any confidence can be placed in the clearest 
deductions of reason, this is an indubitable con- 
sequence of the absolute independence and infi- 
nite perfection of God. The word of God is as 
clear and full as we could wish it, on a point of 
such mighty moment to our tranquillity and com- 
fort. How often are we told there, that nothing 
happens to us but by his appointment- — that there 
is no evil — nothing that w T e blindly call so, but of 
his creating ; that he has no pleasure, either in 
the destruction, or the distresses of his creatures ; 
that he does not willingly afflict or grieve the chil- 
dren of men ; that he chastens them, not for his 
own pleasure, but for their profit, that they may 
may be made partakers of his holiness ? How 
often are we taught that the sufferings of life are 
not the tokens of divine wrath, but the testi- 
monies of God's paternal attention and compas- 
sion ? That the trials of adversity, the various ca- 
lamities with which we are visited, are calculated 
to promote our virtue, to improve our comfort* - to 
4 



frith Prayer in Time of Affktioti. 65 

secure our best interest, and to enlarge our hea- 
venly inheritance. — The light affliction of this 
transitory world, which is but for a moment, 
worketh out for us a far more exceeding and 
eternal weight of glory. 

If such then be the nature of afflictions ; if such 
be the principle from which they come ; if such 
be their genuine tendency, and such the advan- 
tages they put into our hands, have we no reason 
to give thanks for them ? Difficult it may be, but 
unreasonable it is not. 

No man can be at a loss to say, which hath 
the greater obligation to his father, the child 
that is suffered, without discipline or culture, to 
grow up in ignorance and folly, the slave of hu- 
mour, appetite, and passion ; or, the child whose 
prejudices are carefully corrected, whose follies 
are properly rebuked, whose faults are mercifully 
and calmly, yet steadily and uniformly chastised, 
and who is instructed, or assisted to instruct him- 
self, in whatever is of most importance to the in- 
terests of his future life ; and it is not to be doubted, 
that when they have each attained to maturity of 
judgment, and acquired experience in human 
things, the one will lament the blind indulgence 
that permitted him without interruption to enjov 

F 



66 On the Duty of joining Thanksgiving 

himself according to bis own will, and the other 
will rejoice in the hardships to which he was 
inured, and will estimate even the seventies that 
excited no gratitude at the time, among the truest 
arguments of parental tenderness and love. — This 
whole life, in respect to the whole of our exist- 
ence, is a scene of discipline and education ; have 
we not reason to rejoice in the superintendence ot 
our heavenly Father ? If we were left without 
the instructions and admonitions, without the 
correctives and corroborations of adversity, then, 
would he not deal with us as sons. 

But, to put the discipline of this life as it 
affects the interests of the next, out of the account; 
to consider only the enjoyment of our present 
being ; it might bear a doubt, whether such suf- 
ferings as ordinarily fall to the lot of men, together 
with the supports,the consolations, the deliverances 
that are ordinarily granted them, do not make, or 
put it in our power to make, even this present 
state a more desirable and more comfortable 
scene, than if every species of adversity were ab- 
solutely excluded from it, There is a joy in deli- 
verance, that exists not in uninterrupted security ; 
there is a delight in the restoration of a comfort, 
which for a time has been either totally or in part 
suspended, that is not to be found in the conti- 



with Prayer in Time of JJfdction. 67 

nued possession of it. There are a multitude of 
soothing satisfactions that are peculiar to the hour 
of trouble. While we reflect on the blessings 
that remain, they are the more endeared to us ; 
when we experience the efficacy of those sup- 
ports with which God has furnished us, how 
sweet are our reflections on the tenderness of our 
heavenly Father, who never leaves us, nor forsakes 
us 3 who forgetteth not how frail we are ; and who 
in the midst of judgment, remembers mercy ! 

What joy is it to the Christian, (and ail men may- 
attain the Christian temper) what joy is it to re- 
flect that his trials have not overcome his faith, 
nor extinguished his devotion, nor diminished his 
alacrity in the service of his Maker ? What joy 
is it that he bears, or strives to bear his burdens, 
with a decent composure, and that he improves, 
or labours to improve them with all fidelity and 
diligence ? Into what tenderness does not sorrow 
melt the heart of friendship ? What unusual and 
delightful acceptableness does it not impart to all 
its services r What stability and firmness does it 
not for ever add unto the union ? 

These things, if we attend to them, may suffice 
to satisfy us, that with respect even to the enjoy- 
ment of the present life, it is no undesirable thing 
that we should sometimes receive the visits of ad- 

F 2 



6S On the Duty of joining Thanksgiving 

varsity. It is not the child that is indulged in all 
his wishes, that best enjoys even the season of his 
tutelage and childhood 5 neither is it the man who 
never knows the discipline of adversity, that best 
enjoys this scene of human education. The salu- 
tary seventies that occasionally restrain the per- 
verseness of the child, or that correct the pre- 
judices, compose the dissipation and improve the 
sensibility of the man, contribute each in its place 
to enlarge their capacity of happiness. — What 
impropriety then is there in the Apostle's counsel ? 
To our prayers to God in the day of trouble and 
danger, why should we not add our thanksgivings? 

I will not ask the sinner if he has no cause to 
be thankful for the afflictions that recall him from 
his wanderings, and cure him of his levity, and 
bring him back to God*. Let me ask the Chris- 

* The following lines were written by the late eminently pious 
Dr. Doddridge, on the tombstone of a young man, who died in 
consequence of a broken leg> and whose life, previous to that ac- 
cident, had been very intemperate. They are inserted by the 
Editor, not for the beauty of the poetry, but as the record of an 
interesting fact, and for the justness of the sentiment. 
In life's gay prime a thousand joys I sought, 
But heaven, and an immortal soul forgot ; 
In riper years, Affliction's smarting rod, 
And pains and wounds, taught me to know my God; 
I bless'd the change with my expiring breath, 
And life ascrib'd to that which wrought my death. 



with Prayer in Time cf Affliction. 69 

tian, who may perhaps think that he stands less 
in need of such distasteful dispensations, if there 
be no cause for thankfulness in circumstances 
that may enliven his conviction of his own weak- 
ness and insufficiency, and of his absolute de- 
dependence upon Gcd ? In circumstances that 
most feelingly demonstrate to him the import- 
ance of the divine favour, and the vanity of all 
human things ? In circumstances that most pow- 
erfully incline him to serious thought and sincere 
devotion ; that melt his heart into all the sw T eet 
and amiable sympathies of Christian charity 
and love ; that clothe him more gracefully than 
ever, in humility ; that engage him in the most 
accurate examination of his heart and conduct, 
and that quicken the sentiments cf penitence, and 
strengthen his resolutions of obedience ? — In such 
circumstances, Christian, is there nothing for which 
thou shouldst give thanks ? — These advantages, 
affliction offers thee ; these uses, thou mayest 
make of it; whilst thou prayest to God then 
that he would give thee grace so to improve 
them, shouldst thou not give thanks that thou 
hast them in thy hands so to be improved ? 

2. In our afflictions it becomes us to unite 
thanksgivings with our prayers, for another rea- 



70 On the Duty of joining Thanksgiving 

son also, viz. that our sufferings are not so great 
as our demerit. — Sinner, perhaps thou art afflicted; 
trouble after trouble hath laid hold upon thee ; 
deep and various are thy distresses, and thouart 
ready to cry out, " come and see, was ever sorrow 
like unto my sorrow ?" From my heart I pity 
thee, and I pray God that in the end it may prove 
good for thee that thou art so afflicted. I am 
ready to admit all that thou canst think of the 
weight of what God hath laid upon thee. Yet 
consider for a moment and thou must admit, that 
notwithstanding all, thou hast reason to rejoice 
and to give thanks. — Thou art a living man, and 
for the living there is hope : the day of grace is 
not over, the gates of mercy are not shut — thy 
eternal interests are not yet desperate. Surely it 
is a privilege to be owned with the warmest gra- 
titude, that thou art yet in a state of discipline 
and hope.— How dreadful had been thy situation, 
if justice had already summoned thee to her awful 
tribunal, and had pronounced the irrevocable 
doom ? 

It is no unworthy or unuseful exercise of our 
understanding, to contemplate the various cha- 
racters and circumstances of mankind, and to 
consider the influence, which in fact they have 5 



fwith Prayer in Time of Affliction. 1 1 

or in reason ought to have upon each other. 
But after all, our most urgent business is at borne. 
Christians, what think ye of yourselves? what 
think ye of your own sufferings ? what have you 
thought, what should ye think, of your afflic- 
tions ? You have not, I would hope, so unjust an 
idea of the present state, so overweening an idea 
of your own merit, as to conceive, that the most 
perfect sincerity in your obedience to the law of 
God, your most diligent and strenuous endeavours 
to fulfil all righteousness, either will, or ought to 
exempt you from afflictions. You pray to be 
delivered, but you pray more earnestly to be sup- 
ported, and to be led to the just improvement of 
them ; and with these your humble supplications, 
you offer up thanksgivings, not less sincere and 
cordial, than in the midst of judgment God re- 
members mercy. — What, you say, had been my 
condition, if it had been determined by my merit ? 
If for every instance in which I had forgotten. 
God, he had forgotten me and my concerns ; if 
for every duty I had neglected, he had subtracted 
but one from my comforts and enjoyments if, 
for every deviation I have made from the way of 
his commandments, his chastisements had come 
upon me ; my hopes had been extinguished ; my 

F4 



72 On the Duty of joining Thanksgiving 

comforts had been exhausted, and my miseries had 
been already insupportable. How precious are 
his thoughts unto me ! how great is the sum of 
them ! It is true, I have been happier - 3 but while 
I can hope in God that he will extend his com- 
passion to me, and can rejoice in his benignity 
that he has not chastened me according to my de- 
merit, but according to his own goodness, I am 
not unhappy still. Thy mercy, O my God, ap- 
pears in every dispensation of thy providence. 
The prosperities thou bestowest on me demand 
my gratitude, for I am not worthy of them ; I am 
not even worthy to be chastened with so much 
tenderness and pity. 

Such, in regard to the dispensations of divine 
Providence, are the sentiments of every heart that 
is truly Christian. — In this manner does the Chris- 
tian own his obligation ; in all things to give 
thanks. 

PRAYER. 

O Lord God almighty, thou art greatly to be 
feared, and to be had in reverence of all them that 
come nigh unto thee ; for thou seest not as man 
seeth, neither art thy ways like our ways. Into 
this world we know we are sent as into a school of 
discipline and education ; notwithstanding there- 



with Prayer in Time of Jffliction. 75 

fore all the difficulties and trials we may meet 
with, some of which may try our faith and pa- 
tience to the uttermost, may this be at all times 
our support and consolation, that the Lord God 
omnipotent reigneth ; that he will never leave us 
if we forsake not him ; that our strength shall be 
proportioned to our day ; that if we love him, all 
things shall work together for our good according 
to his promise ; and that if we obey him, we 
shall finally, and for ought we know speedily be 
received into that better world, the great object 
of our wishes and our hopes, where we shall 
obtain the reward of onr faith and patience, in 
pure, unspeakable, and unchangeable felicity. 

Seeing we have this transporting expectation 
in us, may we hold out unto the end. Enable 
us, O God, to occupy all our talents with fidelity 
and diligence ; to sustain all our trials with for- 
titude and constancy till we see him, whom hav- 
ing not seen we love, and hear that blessed sen- 
tence — well done good and faithful servants, enter 
ye into the joy of your Lord. 



t 74 ) 



DISCOURSE VI. 

ON THE DUTY OF JOINING THANKSGIVING 
WITH PRAYER IN TIME OF AFFLICTION. 

PART IL 

Philippians IV. 6. 

IN EVERY THING BY PRAYER AND SUPPLICATION, WITH 
THANKSGIVING MAKE KNOWN YOUR REQUESTS UNTO' 
GOD. 

In the hour of trouble it becomes us to unite 
thanksgiving with our prayers, because, let our 
condition be what it may, it is not so afflictive as 
it might have been. 

In every sorrow that you have ever yet expe- 
rienced, k would be very easy for you to imagine 
what would have greatly aggravated and em- 
bittered it. There were still some powers of your 
nature, there were still some circumstances of 
your situation, which the arrows of adversity had 
not reached. — If you were poor, perhaps you 



On the Duty of joining, Kc. 75 

were in health ; if you were sick, perhaps you 
did not want what might procure you where- 
with to mitigate and remove your sicknesses. If 
your bodies were diseased, your minds were not 
disordered, you were still possessed of your ra- 
tional and moral powers ; and though your bodily 
diseases were many, you were not exercised with 
all the pains and sicknesses that might have been 
combined together y it is probable you might have 
recollected among your friends, perhaps you might 
have found within your neighbourhood, those that 
were at that very time proved with more. If 
your friends were in trouble, yet it was only- 
some, not all of them , you perhaps were not 
afflicted, but in their affliction : if you were in 
trouble, they perhaps were not afflicted but in 
yours. You were not incapacitated for perform- 
ing the offices of friendship for them, nor they 
withheld from rendering the like services to you. 

If your troubles were of such a nature as to 
admit of human consolation and relief, it is pro- 
bable that they befel you in a scene, and at a time 
when such aids and comforts might be obtained : 
If, of such a nature they were not, and the whole 
burden must have been borne by yourself alone s 
it is very probable you can call to remembrance 



76 On the Daty of joining Thanksgiving 

those seasons and conjectures of your life, those 
states of mind, of body, or of circumstances which 
formerly you have experienced, in which it was 
possible you might have been placed again, 
wherein the troubles that oppressed you would 
have borne upon you much more heavily, and have 
affected you with much keener and more in- 
supportable distress. 

If your anguish has been very sharp, it has not 
been very tedious ; if your sorrow has been of 
some continuance, it has not been without inter- 
vals of comfort and enjoyment, and perhaps all 
along it has been very tolerable. If the afflictions 
which you have feared have overtaken you, yet 
you feared them perhaps sometime before you 
felt them, and when they came, though you 
found them very painful^ yet not so distressing as 
you feared. They might have embittered life 
much sooner, they might have embittered it much 
more. 

You are injured in your property, you feel it 
sensibly, those who are depend, nt on you feel it ; 
but say, is there nothing still remaining to you, 
of which you might be unjustly deprived ? — You 
are injured in your honour, misrepresented, ca- 
lumniated, and traduced °, by some means or other. 



with Prayer in Time of Affliction. 11 

by unjust suspicion, by uncandid interpretation, 
by malignant slander, you have suffered in the 
esteem of men ; in the friendship of those who 
were most tenderly affected towards you, and 
thus, much of the comfort of your life has been 
destroyed ; it may be so, but would it not have 
been a severer trial, if you had deserved such ca- 
lumnies ? Would it not have pained you more to 
have been conscious that such detractions though 
unkind, were not unjust ? Have you been de- 
graded as low as passible in the opinion of man- 
kind ? Have the enemies of your repose, done 
you all the mischief they might have done ? 

By the instability of human things, by the 
changeableness of human dispositions, or by the 
stroke of death perhaps, you have lost a relative 
or a friend ; not one perhaps, but more ; they are 
no longer to be found in this world ; or, if they 
be, through the vicissitudes to which this world is 
subject, some, whom you counted among its most 
valuable blessings, are to you as if they were not. 
It may be so ; but are there none that might be 
added to the number? It is true these are the 
richest treasures of this present state, but have all 
your riches made themselves wings and fled away ? 
Has there been no succession in the circle of 



IS On the Duty of joining Thanksgiving 

your connections ? Is there no reason to expect 
there may be r Are there none remaining to you 
of all that have long occupied your most pleasing 
cares, tendered you the most substantial services, 
and furnished you with your most delightful enter- 
tainment ? There are very few even of those 
who have reached the extremest date of human 
life, that can make a complaint like this; very 
few, on whose connections, time and chance have 
made such dreadful depredations, that they have 
none in whom they can trust to sweeten what re- 
mains of life, and to lay them in a decent grave ; 
and while this is not our condition, it is not so 
deplorable as it might have been. 

In every scene of affliction, in every hour of 
trouble, there is something for which we may, 
something for which, if we would be faithful to 
our duty, we must give thanks. — My friends, 
there is no condition of human life that we ever 
have experienced, or ever shall, from which 
some consolations still left us, might not have 
been withdrawn ; to which some sorrow might 
not have been added ; in which some circum- 
stances might not have been altered for the worse. 

In the second place it becomes us in our afflic- 
tions to unite thanksgiving with our supplication^ 



with Prayer in Time of Affliction. 79 

because our afflictions in this life, never are so 
great, but that they admit of consolation. 

Diseases both of body and mind, are in very 
many instances capable of being cured by proper 
applications $ and even in those instances where 
they prove incurve, the anguish of them, ordi- 
narily at least, is capable of being mitigated ; and 
such is the benignity of God, that both in the 
material and spiritual worlds he hath furnished us 
with a variety of remedies and lenitives for the va- 
rious pains and distresses to which we are liable. 
It is a law of our nature that reflects the greatest 
honour on the Author of it, and calls upon us for 
perpetual gratitude, that in many cases, the longer 
we suffer, the lighter our sufferings become. If 
our pleasures please us less when they are become 
habitual, this is abundantly made up to us in the 
counter-part of the appointment — that our dis- 
tresses, distress us less, as we become inured to 
them. 

Prayer is another of the comforts of which we 
may avail ourselves in our afflictions ; it is a com- 
fort which God extends to us, and which he 
means, which he expects, which he requires us 
to take. To our dutiful endeavours to sustain 
our sorrows, we may add our pious supplications 



SO On the Duty of joining Thanksgiviyig 

for support, and comfort, and relief ; and having 
done this, we cannot, in any circumstances, how- 
ever distressing, be devoid of hope. Hope is the 
great cordial of human life. It must mingle 
with our most prosperous cirr instances, or the 
enjoyment of them will be bu^very dull, and lan- 
guid, and imperfect : Without hope, the adversi- 
ties of life, even in the lightest instances, would 
sit heavily on our hearts - y and on the contrary, 
our most grievous sufferings yield in some mea- 
sure to its cheering influences. In our worst con- 
dition, we are not without hope that the day is 
coming when it may be better with us ; our pains 
may cease, our fears may vanish - y our difficulties 
may find a period at last ; by and by our tears 
may be dried up, and our wounded hearts be 
healed. — If no other hope remain to us, yet we 
know that ere long we shall arrive at those peace- 
ful mansions, where the weary are at rest. Our 
troubles will at least cease there. Death will 
compose our fears and take away our pains. We 
shall groan no more in that land of silence. When 
that placid slumber steals upon us, every grief will 
be forgotten. Though no bright interval should 
gild the remainder of the day, when once the sun 
of life is set, the night we know will be still and 



with Prayer in Time of Affliction. $ % 

easy ; we shall rest then, if not before ; and if our 
state be such, that we find no intermission of our 
anguish, that night is probably not far off. 

These hopes, Christians, nothing can take from, 
us : we have no pains that are immortal. The 
storms of life must drive us to the haven whither 
we are steering. Let us keep our good character, 
and we cannot miss our port. When sorrows 
press upon us, it is a sweet reflection, a thought 
that soothes the anguish of our hearts, that by 
ami by we shall shut our eyes on all that troubles 
us, and lay ourselves down, to be disturbed no 
more.— But how much sweeter, how much more 
soothing is the thought, of what mighty power 
Christians have you not often found it to cheer 
you in a dark and painful hour, that when we are 
retired from this world's troubles, we shall be 
received to that where no tribulations come ; to 
pure, and endless, and inconceivable felicity ? 
This hope is indeed an anchor of the soul, sure 
and steadfast the consolation it contains is un- 
speakable. The vale of death is peaceful, the 
world to which it leads, is glorious and happy. — 
Happy man whose inheritance is there ! Why will 
not all men be so happy ? Happy he, whose hope 
can anticipate his arrival there ! He is well pre- 

G 



$2 ' On the Duly cf joining Thanksgiving 

pared for all the calamities of life ; he can never 
want a cordial to support him under them ; he has 
reason, and will ordinarily have the disposition 
too, to rejoice evermore. He cannot guard him- 
self, and he knows that God neither should nor 
will defend him from the common calamities of 
life, but whatever may happen, nothing can come 
without his own consent, that shall destroy his eter- 
nal interests. These consolations, some of them we 
must have, all of them we may have, in every hour 
of trouble, and through every hour of life. Say, 
then, was the Apostle wrong? was he un- 
acquainted with the condition, was he inattentive 
to the circumstances of mankind > is the advice 
impracticable, is the command unreasonable, 
that in our afflictions we should give thanks ?' 
Much matter for thanksgiving we can never fail 
to have. If then we offer not the sacrifice of gra- 
titude together with our prayers to heaven, we 
withhold from God the glory due unto his name, 
and we may do an injury to cur own souls ; for I 
must just mention in the 

Third place, that by cultivating and cherishing 
that temper of mind which will lead us to inter- 
mingle thanksgivings with our prayers, we shall 
recommend ourselves to the divine favour*, in re- 



with Prayer in Time of Affliction. 83 

spect to the wants, and pains, and fears that are 
at present with us. 

Will God look with an equally propitious eye, 
on the thankful and on the unthankful ? To for- 
get the mercies that we have, is this the way to 
obtain the mercies that we want ? Shall new 
mercies be bestowed upon that man, who shows 
in his present conduct that he will forget them as 
soon as new troubles shall arise ? Shall new mer- 
cies be withheld by the Father of mercies from 
that man w T hose present conduct gives the best 
security, that whatever is bestowed upon him, un- 
effaced by time or sorrow, shall be had in ever- 
lasting remembrance ? Which manifests the best 
disposition to improve the blessing that he asks, 
on which could you rely most confidently that he 
would employ your bounty in a manner honour- 
able to himself and acceptable to you, the man 
who forgets what you have already done for him, 
or he, who with true humility and gratitude ac- 
knowledges your former kindnesses, whilst he is 
soliciting your future favours ? — You cannot for 
a moment hesitate how the question should be 
answered. Hear then the Apostle's counsel, 
be grateful for the past, if you would be happy in 
the future, and mingle thanksgiving with your 

Q2 



S4 On the Duty of joining Thanksgiving 

prayers, if ye mean that your prayers should ht 
regarded. 

In the fourth place. — Our prayers and suppli- 
cations in the day of our adversity, ought to be 
accompanied with thanksgiving, because present 
troubles do not annihilate former mercies. 

If you have lost a blessing, you have had one ; 
it may be, that you have had it long : it may be, 
that the time you have been happy in the pos- 
session of it, is much longer than the time for 
which you will be afflicted by its loss. It is now- 
taken from you, but the value of the blessing is 
not hereby diminished ; the period during which 
you were indulged by it, is not hereby shortened $ 
the enjoyment was as real as the loss. 

Has sickness seized you ? there is room fof 
thankfulness that you know the difference be- 
tween a state of sickness and a state of health.—* 
Have you lost a friend ? You had a friend to lose. 
Have you lost, unjustly lost, your esteem and 
credit in the world ? It is true notwithstanding, 
that for a time you enjoyed the good opinion of 
the world, < and your obligations unto God who 
gave you to enjoy it for that period, are in this re- 
spect unaltered and unalterable. You cannot, it 
is true, thank God for a blessing he has take& 



with Prayer in Time of JJJiiction. S.5 

,/rom you ; but it is your duty, even when it is not 
permitted you to retain it, it is still your duty to 
give thanks to him that you had that blessing 
once, and that it was not taken from you sooner. 
There was a portion of your life that was happier 
than it would have been without it ; ought you 
not then to bless him for the past, while you im- 
plore his pity on the present ? — Does it not 
become you, while you beseech him to comfort 
you under the loss, to thank him that he blessed 
you with the enjoyment. — I said, but perhaps 
I ought not to have said, that you cannot 
thank God for a blessing which he has taken 
from you j for methinks, if reason have that 
authority which she ought to have over your affec;- 
tions, you will be able, even after you have lost 
the comforts in which you delighted most, in some 
measure to re-enjoy the pleasures that they gave 
you. Though the blessing be gone, your me- 
mory is not gone with it ; and whilst this re r 
mams, you may avail yourself of its aid to supply 
the absence of the comfort you have lost, by 
bringing back into the present, the enjoyments of 
the past. To a mind that is properly affected, it 
gives less pain than pleasure in sickness, to re- 
collect the season of health ; in poverty, the timg 

G 3 



S6 On the 'Duty of joining Thanksgiving 

of our affluence ; in our separation from our 
friends, the period of our communion ; in our ad- 
versity, of whatever kind, the day of our prospe- 
rity. Thus we may in a manner perpetuate our 
enjoyments, and with them our gratitude ; the 
pleasure may not be so pure and lively, but it is 
by no means unreal. Our blessings may ad- 
minister to our comfort, even after we are de- 
prived of them ; the present may be made more 
happy by the remembrance of the past. The 
perverseness of mankind it is true, very often 
employs their recollection to increase their mi- 
sery : they may use it for a better purpose ; and 
is not this a state of mind, after which it is de- 
sirable for ourselves and dutiful towards God a 
that we should carefully aspire ? But, 

TVe may add finally, That our comforts, though 
dead, are in very many instances not absolutely 
lost to us : they still live in their influences and 
their consequences. All our past enjoyments, 
though the immediate instruments or sources of 
them be no more, have each had their efficacy in 
the great chain of Providence, have each contri- 
buted their share to form the present conjunc- 
ture of our circumstances, and to give their pre- 
sent aspect to cur affairs. Affluent if you have 



with Prayer in Time of Affliction* %% 

-been, you have derived some benefits from that 
affluence that remain with you in your poverty .: 
and if any man has had a kind, a wise and pious 
friend, though it may not be in his power perhaps 
to specify them, he must have derived some be- 
nefits from that friendship that will live with him, 
long after that friend is dead ; and it may be 5 
long after he is dead himself. The same might 
be said of many other blessings once enjoyed and 
then lost again ; ought we not then, though we 
have lost them, to give thanks ? 

So good was the Apostle's counsel, so wise are 
they that keep it. " In all things, therefore, by 
prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving let 
your requests be made known unto God and 
the peace of God which passeth all understand- 
ing, shall keep your hearts and minds through 
£hrist Jesus, " 

PRAYER. 

O almighty and most merciful Father— This 
world we know is a changeable and imperfect 
scene, in which all our comforts and delights are 
subject to perpetual danger 3 may we rejoice 
therefore as though we rejoiced not, and weep as 
though we wept not, knowing that the fashion 

• G4 * 



SS On the Duty of joining Thanksgiving, Xc« 

thereof soon passeth away. May we never be 
weary or faint in our minds, but may we run 
with patience and alacrity the race that is set be- 
fore us. 

As we call ourselves the disciples of Christ, 
may w r e habitually exercise and assiduously cul- 
tivate, that spirit of ardent piety, that entire de- 
votedness to thy will, which so eminently dis- 
tinguished and adorned his character. May the 
power of thy glorious gospel to impart the truest 
dignity, and the noblest consolations to the hu- 
man mind, from day to day be manifest in our 
temper and in our conduct j in every good dis- 
position, and in all worthy conduct, may we con- 
tinue and abound still more and more : in all 
things by prayer and supplication, with thanks- 
giving, may we make known our requests unto 
thee ; and do thou, O merciful Father, uphold, 
and support us, and keep us from falling, till we 
be presented faultless before the presence of thy 
glory with exceeding joy. 



C & ) 



DISCOURSE VII. 

MAN, THE PROPERTY OF GOD. 



Psalm cxix. 94, 

J.ORD I AM THINE, SAVE ME. 

ThESE are the words of the King of Israel, 
addressed to the supreme King of kings j and al- 
though in one sense they might with perfect 
justice be adopted by every creature he has made, 
yet there are other senses in which they could 
properly be applied by none but those happy per- 
sons, who could safely appeal to God for the up- 
rightness of their hearts, and the integrity of their 
conversation. The true Christian, he, who to 
faith unfeigned, has added a sincere and improv- 
ing holiness, may adopt them in their full extent. 
As proceeding from such a character, we shall 
consider them at present, and shall show in the 



SO Man, the Property of God. 

first place, what they may be understood to sig- 
nify, and afterwards briefly point out, the useful 
purposes to which they may be applied. 

Lord, says the good man, I am thine - 9 which 
may signify, 

First, I am thy creature, thou madest me, and 
not I myself. When I look back through a few 
years that are elapsed, I presently arrive at that 
period, when as yet I had not a being. I cannot 
own the instruments of my existence for its cause 
and origin ; for how should they, who are unac- 
quainted with the human structure, who cannot 
boast an independent being, who know not what 
my spirit is, and are even incapable of imitating 
my outward form, how should they breathe into 
me the breath of life, or of what inspiration 
are they possessed, by which to give me under- 
standing? 

But, as there is no other mortal to whom I can 
ascribe my being, so neither can I be persuaded 
that I exist through any blind necessity of na- 
ture ; I understand not what that assertion means ; 
I leave it to those who can, to account for intelli- 
gence, without a designing cause. I know very 
well what my own conceptions are, when I say 
that I was created by some superior power, by 
some invisible intelligence. 



Man, the Property of God, 91 

When I observe how fearfully and wonderfully 
I am made, when I contemplate the structure of 
my body, and the economy of my mind., I dis- 
cern such illustrious proofs of power, wisdom s 
and goodness, as mark me for the workmanship of 
a nobler artist, and bid me look to heaven for the 
maker of my frame.— When I consider how much 
I am dependent on the world around me, when. 
I reflect how my various powers are accommo- 
dated to its various objects,, when I see how amply 
it is furnished with every thing necessary to supply 
my wants, and to promote my comfort, I cannot 
but conclude, that he who made the world made 
me also ; that the Creator of the heavens and the 
earth, is the Father also of the human race. Lord 
I am thine, thou madest me. 

Secondly, These words may likewise ex- 
press another sentiment, viz. As I am thy crea- 
ture, so also am I thy charge ; made by thy 
hands, by thy hands I am supported. As my life 
was . originally the gift of God, so it is his provi- 
dence that continues and sustains it. When I 
look into the world around me, I see the vacant 
places of many a dear companion of my infancy 
and childhood; my fathers, where are they? my 
brethren and my friends, are they all living now ? 



S3 Man, the Property of God* 

They who came before me, are gone before me | 
and of multitudes that came with me into life, 
many have long ago taken up their residence, in 
that dark and silent house which is appointed for 
^11 the living. Who has made me to differ from 
another ? Why am I among the living, and not 
among the dead ? Why was I not long ago cut 
off from all farther capacity of usefulness and 
possibility of improvement? Whence is it, that 
amidst so many dying lamps, my lamp is burning 
still ? Whence is it, that I yet have }t in my power 
to grow in grace and to make ampler preparations 
for eternity ? Is it through any innate vigour of 
my own ? is it the effect of my own prudence, the 
result of my own care ? Alas, I am weak and 
frail and impotent as others, as unable to redeem 
myself, as to redeem my brother from the grave. 
I am totally ignorant by what means to prolong 
my being, and cannot even promise myself the 
completion of the hour that is now begun. — No, 
blessed God,, I am thine ; thy charge ; thy care ; in 
thy favour is my life ; it is thy food that feeds me ; 
it is thine air by which I am refreshed ; it is thy 
blessing on my industry that supplies me with all 
things needful and convenient for me ; it is thine 
arm on which I lean ; it is thy shield by which I 



Man, the Fivpcrty of GoJ. 23 

am encompassed. A thousand dangers hover 
round my head, and the seeds of a thousand mor- 
tal maladies are within me ; amidst such infinity 
of deaths, who but God conld have preserved me? 
It is having obtained help from God, that I con- 
tinue hitherto ! 

Thirdly, Lord, says the good man, I am thine, 
the creature of thy power, the charge of thy provi- 
dence ; I also am thy subject. When I look into 
what lies below me in the rank of being, I observe 
that all things fulfil the purposes and obey the or- 
dinances of God. I see that his will is done by 
the animal creation, the earth, and the heavens. 
But they obey him unconscious of their obedience; 
they know not whose they are, and whom they 
serve. I find within me a nobler principle ; I 
know my master, and I know his law. Mine is 
a conscious, voluntary service, The things that 
are seen, reveal to me " the Maker's eternal 
power and dominion and the frame of nature, 
and the course of providence, instruct me con- 
cerning his character and government. All things, 
both around and within me, convince me of 
my absolute dependence upon God - 3 and the na- 
tive, uncorrupted sentiments of my own heart, ap- 
pear to me invested with the pow r er and authority 



M Man, the Property of God. 

of a law from the Father of my spirit. Some- 
thing there is within this breast of mine, that 
assures me I am not accountable to myself alone ; 
that I am not only to answer for my conduct to 
my fellow-creatures of mankind, but that I am 
amenable to a higher tribunal. I feel within me 
unconquerable forebodings of future happiness 
or misery : these I am necessitated to regard, as 
the sanctions of the law of God. While I am 
good and do good, my hopes of happiness are 
jively ; when I fail in duty, my hopes languish, 
and my apprehensions rise. Yes, blessed be 
God ! I know his name ; his law is not hiddefi 
from me, and my obligations to obey him are 
complete. His gospel hath confirmed what his 
finger hath engraven on my heart. I own him 
for my Father and my God, and I do homage to 
him as my Lord and King. Subject I am to pa- 
rents, masters, and rulers, but my obedience to 
them is an act of obedience also to God ; and I 
am accountable to him for the reverence in which 
I hold those, whom his providence hath set over 
me, But my subjection to earthly Lords, is 
limited and mutable ; they may abuse their au- 
thority, and then my obligations of subjection are 
annulled ; as they change, my allegiance changes, 
2 



Man, the Property of God. S5 

and perishes, as they perish ; but the throne of 
God is for ever, and his dominion endureth 
throughout all generations. No injunctions of 
an earthly master can absolve me from the duties 
that I owe unto him ; no changes of my being 
can relax my obligations unto God ; living, dying, 
dead, reviving, I am his subject, and must be so 
for ever. 

Fourthly, Lord, says the good man, I am thine, 
thy creature, thy care, thy subject ; yea more, I 
am thy property. Let him dispose of me as he 
pleaseth, shall he not do what he will with his 
own ? " The earth is the Lord's, and the fulness 
thereof ; the world, and they that dwell therein ; 
for he hath founded it upon the seas, and esta- 
blished it upon the Moods." I take possession of 
a portion of his earth ; I take possession of the in- 
ferior creatures $ mine I call them ; I dispose cf 
them according to my pleasure, and never once 
suspect myself of injustice or impertinence. What 
right have I to them which God has not, in an 
infinitely juster sense, to me ? Do I preserve and 
support them ? Did I make and fashion them ? 
Was it my word or power that brought them into 
being? Is not the same great God our commoo 



§t Man, the Property of God* 

Maker and supporter, and therefore our common 
owner and proprietor ? Yes, Lord, I am thine. 

In the fifth place, Lord, says the good man, I 
am thine, not only by the necessity of nature, by 
the inevitable circumstances of my being, but thine 
also, by voluntary choice, and deliberate agree- 
ment. 

It depended not on myself whether I would be 
thy creature, thy care, thy subject, and thy pro- 
perty ; these I was before I was capable of 
knowing it ; these I am, and these I must be. 
But, blessed be God, there is something depen- 
dent on myself, by which I may testify my reve- 
rence of his glory, and my gratitude for his bene- 
fits. — The cheerfulnes of my homage cannot be a 
matter of necessity; the joy of my obedience, 
cannot be extorted. This I have of my own to 
offer unto God, cc to delight myself in him and 
in his law *" it depends upon myself, that he 
who must of necessity be my ruler, should of 
choice also be my Lord : his creature I am, but 
it rests upon my own determination, whether I 
will revere him as my Maker : the care of his 
providence I am, but it remains in my own 
breast whether I will gratefully acknowledge 
his beneficence : among his subjects I am, but it 



Man, the Property of God. 91 

must be my own deed to Jive faithful to my alle- 
giance : his property I am, he may dispose of me 
as he pleaseth, but it must be my own to rejoice 
in such an owner : to acquiesce in his dispensa- 
tions, to triumph in his government, and to devote 
myself to his service ; this must be my own. 

Take me then, great God, take me into the num- 
ber of thy people, own me for a free, a voluntary, 
and a cheerful servant, for all I have, and all I am, 
is thine. The world I know is a fallacious flatterer; 
sin is an oppressive tyrant ; the service of the flesh, 
is infamy and bondage ; the service of God is per- 
fect freedom, and in keeping his commandments 
there is great reward. How happy am I that I 
have a heart to give him for his benefits ! How do 
I rejoice in this privilege of my nature, that I can 
serve him with my whole soul, that my obedience 
may proceed from choice, not compulsion ! How 
does my spirit triumph in the Lord, that among 
all the competitors for the duty and affection of 
mankind, I can despise every interfering claimant, 
and resign myself wholly unto him who made me ? 
Who can plead a better title to me ? who will 
provide for me a better portion ? who will cherish 
me with such tender mercy ? Unworthy indeed 
I am great God, but though unworthy, I am no 

H 



58 1 Man. the Property of God. 

insincere, far be from me the liar's tongue, and the 
hypocrite's pretence : it is, thou knowest it is, my 
desire and joy to do, and bear thy witk O that 
thou wouldst enkindle in me a zeal that never 
should grow cold in thy service, and strengthen 
me with a strength that should never languish or 
decay. Joyful is the expectation, and truly 
blessed is the hope, that the day is coming, when 
I shall have done with the avocations and incum- 
brances of mortality ; that the day is coming, 
when I shall see thee face to face, and serve thee, 
as I wish to serve thee, with unwearied activity 
and unspeakable delight ! Often, O thou all- 
knowing God, often hast thou heard me in the 
exultation of my gratitude crying out, "Who have I 
in heaven but thee, and what is there upon earth 
that I can desire in comparison of thee r Often 
hast thou heard me, from the depths of affliction, 
and in the anguish of my spirit, professing thee 
to be my trust end confidence, my only portion 
and my only hope. Often hast thou seen aae, 
numbering myself among thy people, owning 
those obligations which no duty can repav, and 
taking up those resolutions which eternity only 
can absolve ! These sentiments 1 would cherish, 
these engagements I would ratify. I am not my 



Man, the Property of God, 99 

own, but the property of God, and I would be 
his for ever. 

In the sixth and last place, I would observe, 
that the good man may adopt the language of the 
psalmist in yet another sense, herein appealing 
to the condescension and to the promises of God 
that he will accept, and keep, and save all those 
who sincerely and diligently obey him. " Ye 
shall be to me a people," saithhe, and a I will be 
to you a God." " Come out from amon? the 
children of impenitence and unbelief, and I will 
be to you a father, and ye shall be my sons and 
daughters, saith the Lord almighty." " To god- 
liness belong all the promises of this life, and of 
that which is to come." " In it all the promises 
of God are sure and certain 3" Then saith the 
Christian, Lord I am thine, thou, the maker of my 
frame, art my Father and my God ; all that is in- 
cluded in thy favour, is my portion and my right, 
such hath thy promise made it ; humbly do I 
appeal to thee for the sincerity of my repentance, 
of my faith, and duty, and with equal humility 
would I claim of thee what thou hast most gra- 
ciously condescended to propose to me. Often 
have I blessed thee, that my virtuous friends 
would own me ; I have often blessed thee, that 

H 2 



100 Man, the Property of God. 

those who could contribute to my comfort in any 
form, would own me ; often have I blessed thee 
that my pious parents would call me theirs ; but 
if thou, great God, wilt own me, if thou wilt call 
me thine, if thou wilt adopt me into thy family 
and write my name in the book of life, after this, 
what have I to fear ? and beyond this, what have 
I to wish ? 

Having thus illustrated the words of the text, 
and considered it as expressing the sentiments of 
the good man's heart, it remains now that I should 
intimate some useful purposes to which it may be 
applied. In the first place, 

1. If we be the property of God, how highly 
reasonable is it, that we should study and obey 
his will. 

You honour and obey your parents, and herein 
you do well. If any man feed, and clothe, and 
provide for you, you are modest, humble, grate- 
ful, and herein you do well. You are submissive, 
respectful, and faithful, to those who are set over 
you in authority, and herein you deserve our imi- 
tation and our praise. If any man deposit his 
property in your hands, you would dread the very 
thought of violating your trust, or of injuring your 
brother, and herein you prove yourself faithful and 
just. Remember then, that you are the creatures* 



Man, the Property of God. 101 

the dependents, the subjects, the property of God ; 
Jet your sentiments and conduct towards others, 
respecting each of these relations, instruct you in 
the sentiments and conduct which you ought to 
maintain towards the great Lord and ruler of the 
world. But more particularly, 

Secondly, If you be the property of God, you 
have the highest reason to be thankful to him for 
every comfort, and to be resigned under every 
affliction. 

Had you been possessed of an independent be- 
ing, had you been strictly and properly your own, 
had it been of your own accord that you had re- 
ceived the benefits, and become the subjects, and 
owned yourselves the property of God, you might 
then have pleaded that it was not an absolute, 
but a conditional engagement: you might then 
have received his bounties, as what were in justice 
due to you, and murmured against every thing 
that was unacceptable in your circumstances, as a 
violation of the treaty you had made with God : 
but, if you be his without any merit in becoming 
such ; if you be his to do with you whatever seem- 
eth to him good ; if you have no claim of right 
on your Creator, how highly does this considera- 
tion enhance your obligations to him for every 

H3 



1 02 Man, the Property of God. 

comfort of your existence ? How indecent, how 
impious, how unnatural is it to murmur at any 
thing which he may appoint ! 

In the third place, If ye be God's, not only by 
the necessity of nature, but by your own deli- 
berate choice and your own voluntary engage- 
ments, consider how highly it behoves you to be 
steady to your choice, and faithful to your vows. 
If you suspect that you have determined rashly, 
think again : consider whether you can find a 
better master, or engage yourselves in a more 
gainful service. Remember that it were better for 
you never to have known the way of righteousness, 
than after having known it, to turn from the holy 
commandment delivered unto you ; and tremble, 
Jest to the guilt of profaneness and of rebellion, 
you add the accessory guilt, of perfidy and false- 
hood. 

In the fourth and last place, If we be God's, if 
owning him for our lawgiver and our judge, he 
owns us for his people, and his children, how solid 
is the ground on which our hopes are built, and 
how secure our happiness ! Whatever comes to 
us, comes to us for our good, for it comes to us 
from an almighty friend, who knows our state 
and tenderly regards our interests. Though there 
may be some things in our condition which ar§ 



Man, the Property of God. 1.0'i 

tK>t for the present joyous but grievous, yet if we 
be God's, God is ours, and if God be ours, what 
security can we want of an ample indemnification 
in futurity ? Afflictions are very tolerable when 
they are not the ministers of wrath ; and prospe- 
rity is doubly acceptable when we can receive it 
as the testimony of divine favour. The men of 
the world are apt to boast themselves of their fe- 
licity, but if they now prefer the world to God^ 
the time will come, when they will praise the 
Christian's choice. Their pleasures will decline, 
his will be improving ; their hopes will vanish 
away, his will be more than realized ; their con- 
fidence will fail them, but the Christian rests upon 
the rock of ages. In the time of apprehension 
and of fear, in the hour of trouble and affliction, 
in the moment of death, in the solemnities of 
judgment, they will want, what the world cannot 
give its votaries ; and what God only can bestow. 
In these trying seasons, when every thing about 
those who are without God, is dark, and gloomy, 
and distressing, the Christian, supported by his 
conscience, and encouraged by the divine pro- 
mises, can derive light and comfort from the rela- 
tion that he bears to him in whose hands are the 
fates of every living thing. When all sublunary 

Hi 



104 Man, the Property of God. 

comforts have taken their flight, when human 
friendships can no longer avail, the hope of the 
Christian remains uninjured, for in this world he 
placed not his happiness : — he had long fixed it 
there, where true joys only are to be found, whi- 
ther he is now going to reap that glorious harvest, 
the gracious reward of his faith, patience, and 
obedience ; for he knows who it is that hath said, 
" be faithful unto death, and I will give thee a 
crown of life." 

PRAYER. 

O Lord we are thine by ten thousand ties, for 
thou art our Father, the Author of our being, 
with all its powers, its comforts, and its hopes. 
By our own choice also we are thine, for whom 
have we in heaven but thee, and what is there 
upon earth that we can reasonably desire in com- 
parison of thee ? Thy favour is our life, we will 
seek it with our whole hearts ; and we thank 
thee for the comfortable assurances thou hast 
given, that even by us, unworthy as we are, thy 
favour and thy friendship may be obtained ; for 
" the righteous Lord loveth righteousness, though 
he be angry with the wicked every day :" '* The 
Lord God is a sun and a shield, and no good 



Many the Property of God. 105 

thing will he withhold from them that walk up- 
rightly." O that our hearts were directed always, 
to keep all thy statutes, then should we never be 
ashamed, distressed, or dejected in thy presence, 
when we had respect unto all thy commandments ! 

There is a day we trust approaching, the hope 
and prospect of which is the support and triumph 
of our souls ; there is a day we trust approaching, 
when all they that have continued faithful unto 
death, shall have done with sin, and sorrow, and 
infirmity, and satisfied with thy perfect likeness, 
shall be for ever happy in thine heavenly presence ! 
In the meantime, O God, let thy grace be suffi- 
cient for us ; confirm us in all our holy resolutions -> 
establish us in the steady government of our own 
hearts and minds ; raise us into such superiority 
to the short-lived pleasures of this present scene, 
that we may never be seduced by them from our 
allegiance unto thee. — While we live, may we 
live unto the Lord ; when we die, may we die 
unto the Lord ; in life, in death, and to eternity, 
may we be thine, henceforth, and for ever. 



t 106 ) 



DISCOURSE VIII. 

ON THE OBLIGATION, THE IMPORTANCE, AND 
THE REASONABLENESS OF THE LOVE OF GOD. 

Mark xii. 30, 31. 

THOU SHALT LOVE THE LORD THY GOD WITH ALL THY 
HEART, AND WITH ALL THY SOUL, AND WITH ALL THY 
MIND, AND WITH ALL THY STRENGTH, THIS IS THE FIRST 
COMMANDMENT ; AND THE SECOND IS LIKE UNTO IT r 
NAMELY THIS, THOU SHALT LOVE THY NEIGHBOUR AS 
THYSELF, THERE IS NONE OTHER COMMANDMENT GREAT- 
ER THAN THESE. 

In the history of our Lord we read, that as he 
was teaching in the temple at Jerusalem, one of 
the Scribes, having heard him reasoning with the 
Sadducees, and perceiving that he had answered 
them well, was so highly pleased that he had put to 
silence these adversaries of the Pharisees, to whose 
sect he himself belonged, that he was desirous to 
make a further trial concerning his knowledge of 
the law, hoping probably that what Jesus might 
reply to the question he was about to propose 
to him, would be equally favourable to his own 



On the Obligation, the Importance, Sic, 101 

opinion, and as humiliating to those, who differed 
from him. With these views he addressed Jesus 
as follows, " Rabbi, w r hich is the first command- 
ment of all ?'" alluding, it is probable, to the di- 
visions that subsisted among the Jews concerning 
this subject; some giving the chief place to the 
law of circumcision ; others to the law of sacri- 
fices; others again to some other part of their 
ceremonial appointments ; and some few* in the 
number of which it seems was this lawyer him- 
self, giving to the moral precepts the preference 
justly their due, and considering all these conten- 
tions as vain and frivolous, while justice, mercy, 
and faith, were overlooked and disregarded. The 
answer of our Lord in the text, fully accorded to 
the expectation of the Scribe, and the historian 
goes on to relate, that he replied, " Master thou 
hast said the truth, for there is one God, and there 
is none other but he, and to love him with all the 
heart, and with all the understanding, and with 
all the strength, and to love his neighbour as 
himself, is more than all burnt offerings and sacri- 
fices." . 

Such was the sense of Moses, whose words are 
quoted by our Lord, such also was the sense of 
Christ himself, and such, as appears from the reply 



108 On the Obligation, the Importance, and 

that the lawyer made to him, are the natural con- 
victions of the human heart, concerning the obli- 
gation, the importance, and the excellency of the 
love of God. Religion is the one thing needful, 
and the love of God is the first great principle of 
religion, the place of which nothing can supply, 
and for the want of which nothing can atone. 
Love, is the very spirit of Christianity ; it is the af- 
fection that breathes in every page of the gospel, 
it distinguished the temper of its Author, and is 
by him given as the characteristic of his followers. 
It is the affection w T hich Christianity has placed 
above faith and hope, which she delights to ho- 
nour, which she labours to inculcate, which she 
represents as the parent-root of all other virtuous 
affections, as a fountain of peace in this world, 
and a title to happiness, in that which is to 
come. 

The two great objects of Christian love, are, 
God and man ; our Creator and our brethren. 
God, as the source of all excellence and happi- 
ness j and men, as they are formed in his image, 
the creatures of his power, and the children of 
his family. 

It is on the first of these topics, namely, the 
love of God, that I mean to dwell at present , I 



the Reasonableness of the Love of God. 1 09 

fliall therefore place before you some observations 
relating to the causes of this affection, and the 
foundations on which it stands, or the considera- 
tions whence it flows ; or, in other words, endea- 
vour to mow you, why we do, and ought to love 
God. 

In the first place, The unspotted purity, the 
impartial justice, the inviolable truth, the inva- 
riable fidelity, and the disinterested benignity of 
God, do most righteously challenge the pure and 
ardent love of all his intelligent creation. The 
heart that understands what these things are, and 
is capable of contemplating these attributes of 
deity, must be sunk into deep depravity, if, be- 
holding the almighty father arrayed in all the 
beauties of holiness, rejoicing in his works, dis- 
posing all things according to the weight and 
measure of wisdom and of equity, and ruling all 
things with equal impartiality and tenderness, it 
does not feej itself elevated with a sacred joy, in 
so sublime a contemplation; if it does not find 
itself kindled into the devout affections of re- 
verence and love. A heart duly penetrated with 
these views of the divine perfections, will neces- 
sarily conceive these sentiments, and feeling their 
blessedness, will wish to prolong them in itself for 



110 On the Obligation, the Importance, and 

ever ; and to communicate them, as well for their 
own sakes, as for their Creator's glory, to every 
other heart within its reach and influence. But 
to proceed, 

In the second place ; We ought to love God 
for the happiness enjoyed by others, as well as for 
those blessings in which we ourselves are par- 
takers — not only for his perfections as they re- 
side in himself, but on account of their opera- 
tions as they are beneficently exerted towards 
others. 

The human heart is not naturally, and till it be 
perverted, cannot become uninterested in the hap- 
piness of others. Their miseries instantly awaken 
our compassion, and if a false self-interest has 
not laid us open to the influence of jealousy and 
envy, the sight of their happiness is a consider- 
able addition to our own. We love the patriot, 
or the sage, the public benefactor, who has con- 
tributed to augment the sum of human happiness, 
how r ever distant the age or country in which he 
lived, although we ourselves can have reaped 
no benefit from his exertions. The affection he 
bare unto the human species at large, gives him 
an interest in our hearts, and we think ourselves 
indebted to him for the benefits he conferred on 
those who were no otherwise related to us, than 



the Reasonableness of the Love of God. Ill 

by the similitude of their nature., their character, 
or circumstances. Those scenes of happiness, 
which we never shall experience, which we never 
shall behold, fill our hearts nevertheless with plea- 
sure and delight. By that power of sympathy, 
implanted in our breasts by the. wise and gra- 
cious author of our frame, we not only may, but 
unless we are become miserably depraved, we 
must, in some measure, enjoy that happiness which 
we conceive to be enjoyed by every other human 
being. We therefore, most reasonably, and most 
naturally, consider ourselves as partaking in their 
obligations, and look upon ourselves as bound to 
go along with them in their gratitude. If they be 
unmindful of their obligations, we are so much 
more impressed with the goodness of their bene- 
factor, who deserved not their ingratitude ; if they 
b>e duly sensible to his beneficence, we approve 
their characters ; our love to them increases our 
love to him who does them good, and we go 
along with them in all the just and ardent ex- 
pressions of their gratitude. As soon as any 
man becomes capable of contemplating the hap- 
piness of others with indifference, and ceases to 
take any interest in their welfare, so soon he be- 
comes an object of disapprobation and of censure. 



112 On the Obligation, the Importance, and 

not only unto others, but also to his own mind. 
If such then be the uncorrupted, and approved 
sentiments of the human heart, with respect to 
the happiness of others, if it thus hold itself under 
obligation to regard the benefactor of a single 
family, a town, or a province, as a benefactor to 
itself; apply this principle to the great universal 
benefactor, and say, with what sentiments of love, 
veneration, and delight, your hearts ought to em- 
brace him. 

Is it needful to illustrate this proposition? to 
unfold the considerations on which it rests ? — 
Reflect then, with regard to the comfort of the 
human race, how divine mercy, having endured 
from everlasting, promises to endure unto ever- 
lasting still : consider, how partial evil conduces 
to general felicity ; how the temporary sufferings 
of individuals, often prove the means of greater 
happiness both to themselves and others ; how 
they flow from that very same constitution of 
things whence all their blessings spring : observe, 
what heartfelt satisfactions, and ineffable delights, 
proceed from the consciousness of virtue : and, 
when you have collected all these things together, 
then say, if as a father pitleth his children, the 
Lord pitieth not them that fear him? Add to 



the Reasonableness of the Lore of God. 1 1 3 

this, the benignity that appears in the constitution 
of the world, how the sinner is invited to repent- 
ance in the dispensation of divine grace ; add to- 
gether all that this world gives in possession, and 
in hope; to temporal, add spiritual blessings, and 
then say, if it be not reasonable, if it be not their 
indispensable duty, that men should praise the 
Lord for his goodness, and for his wonderful 
works unto the children of men ? 

In the frame of nature, in the course of provi- 
dence, in the productions of the earth, in the 
vicissitudes of the seasons, in the fruits of in- 
dustry, in the advantages of commerce ; in the 
goodwill and good offices of mankind ; in the 
comforts of domestic life, in the blessings of 
friendship, of civil and political society, in the 
power of habit, in the joy of possession, in the 
anticipation of hope ; in these, and in many 
other instances that might be distinctly enu- 
merated, the rnost liberal supplies are granted 
us, not only for the comfort, but for the delight 
and entertainment of our lives. Look upon the 
earth, and behold with what beauty the good- 
ness of God has adorned the place of our habi- 
tation; consider how the same general laws of na- 
ture, and the same general course of providence 



1 1 £ On the Obligation, the Importance, and 

prevails throughout every region and every climate 
of the world ; dispensing with liberal hand the 
common benefits of life to men of every lan- 
guage, and of every country : consider further, 
that the most imoortant blessings are the most 
common, those which are most necessary to all, 
w ithheld from none; and then say, if the tender 
mercies of God be not over all his works ? 

Yrhile every object we behold bears testimony 
to every sense, that God is love ; while all 
around us from every region of the earth, the 
voice of joy, if not of gratitude, is ascending to 
the throne of the most high, owe we nothing 
unto God that he has spread so fair a scene of 
happiness before our eyes? Owe we nothing unto 
God that he has provided so various, extensive, 
and satisfactory an entertainment for our sympathy 
and goodWill ? Are the pleasures of benevolence, 
the only pleasures that we do not feel r the only 
joys that are unable to awaken our gratitude and 
love. 

In the third place, we ought to love God on 
our own account ; on account of the numerous 
and imoortant blessings for which we ourselves 
are indebted to hirn. Let us, each of us, ex- 
amine strictly the circumstances of our present 
situation, try to enumerate the various mercies 



the Reasonableness of the Love of God. 115 

we enjoy, and we shall find their number swell 
far beyond what those who have not been ac- 
customed to such an inquiry, could suspect or 
imagine. 

Self-love, in every degree of it, is neither an 
unjust nor an unamiable affection. It is then 
only, when it degenerates into a base self-interest, 
which would serve itself at the expense of others, 
that it becomes the object of indignation or of 
censure : while it is merely confined to what re- 
spects our own real interests, and neither neglects 
nor interferes with the interests of others, it is 
natural in its operations, reasonable in itself, and 
deserving of approbation. Of self-love, it is the 
necessary consequence, that we should love those, 
by whom we are beloved. If any one contribute 
to the gratification of our wishes, for the very 
same reason that we desire these wishes to be 
gratified, we love him who gratifies them. If 
any person do us good, for the very same reason, 
that we love ourselves, and delight in our enjoy- 
ments, we love and delight in that person : if then 
we know God, and attend to this important truth, 
that not a being in the universe possesses any 
power but what was originally derived from him, 
and is even during every succeeding moment 



118 On the Obligation, the Importance, and 

good offices ? and will your heart and your con- 
science hold you guiltless, if your first, your su- 
preme—I was going to have said, your sole bene- 
factor, have no place in your affections ?" 

Go then and give unto your mortal friends, the 
love that is justly their due ; render unto your 
patrons and benefactors the gratitude they may 
reasonably expect from you ; repay your parents, 
with an affection, as sincere and tender, as that 
with which they have nourished and cherished 
you ; but remember, that they and all their kind- 
ness were the gift of God \ that to him you are 
indebted for every pleasurable sentiment, every 
sensation of delight and joy ; and then declare, if 
it be not a duty of indispensable obligation, to keep 
his statutes, to obey his commandments, and to 
love him with all your heart, and soul, and mind, 
and strength? 

These reflections it were easy to amplify and 
enlarge, but enough it is hoped has been ad- 
vanced to convince you, that the love of God is 
nor a blind inexplicable principle, proceeding we 
know not? whence, and tending we know not 
whither, and consisting in we know not what ; 
it is not an unaccountable attraction \ it is not an 
U nen lightened glow of heart ; it is not the over- 



the Reasonableness of the Love of God. 1 1 9 

flowing of a sensual joy ; it is net the ecstacy of a 
mysterious devotion ; it is nothing above the ca- 
pacity of all men to understand, or above the 
power of all men to attain ; nothing contrary to, 
or surpassing human nature : it needs not to hide 
itself for fear of disgrace, for it has no connection 
with the perversion of any human principle, but, on 
the contrary, it is in the depraved heart alone that 
it cannot subsist : it has no dependence on igno- 
rance or darkness ; on the contrary, it is only 
from true and important knowledge that it can 
proceed. 

The love of God is one of the most natural 
operations of the human heart, the most ob- 
vious and self-approved direction of its sentr- 
ments y for it is to admire, what is perceived to- 
be truly admirable - 3 to esteem, what is infinitely 
worthy to be esteemed ; and to cherish in our 
hearts with complacency and delight, the idea of 
what confessedly 'deserves our supreme affection : 
it is, to cultivate a grateful sense of kindness that 
exceeds our tendcrest thoughts, and of benefi- 
cence that passeth knowledge. — To be devoid of 
the love of God, not only betrays an unnatural 
opposition to the dictates of self-love, and of 
. 14 



1 20 On the Obligation, the Importance, and 

charity ; but also to that other powerful and 
amiable principle, by whatever name you call it, 
which recommends all moral goodness to our 
hearts. It implies a strange insensibility to our 
own happiness, to the happiness of our brethren* 
and to the noblest obligations ; a criminal pros- 
titution of our affections, and a perverseness and 
inconsistency of character, alike wretched, de- 
plorable, and guilty. 

If then, my friends, there be in you any spark of 
that nature, which God gave you unextinguished; 
if there be in you any characters and principles 
of reason ; if there yet remains in you a wish to 
approve yourselves to conscience, and to enjoy 
the approbation of your own minds ; maintain 
the noble privilege of your species, for man only, 
among all the inhabitants of this world, is ca- 
pable of loving God. Maintain the honour of your 
character ; it shines most illustriously in the ho- 
nour you render to your Maker, Reasonable and 
moral beings you were made, you were formed 
with principles that might assimilate you to God ; 
that might direct your thoughts and affections 
towards heaven, and the great King of heaven : 
the principles that God implanted in you, tend 



the Reasonableness of the Love of God. 1 2 i 

to unite your hearts to him, to preserve you from 
corruption, to purify you from pollution, to raise 
you to the honour of unblemished righteousness ; 
to prepare you for the happiness of loving him, 
and of being beloved by him, and for the im- 
mortal glories of his presence. 

This, O man, is the dignity for which thy na- 
ture is intended, and which is prepared for it of 
God. Suffer not this honour to be tarnished, or 
to die away ; suffer not this glory to sink from 
shame to shame, till at last, in the complete de- 
pravity of thy soul, the love of God be utterly ex- 
tinguished ; but cherish, with unwearied care, 
every principle that leads to so glorious a dis- 
tinction; to so just, so blessed an affection. 

PRAYER. 

Worthy art thou, OLord, to receive saivation, 
and blessing, and praise, for all things are thine - 9 
thou madest them in perfect wisdom, and thou 
rulest them in perfect love. The eyes of all wait 
upon thee, and thou givest them their meat in 
due season ; thou openest thine hand, and satis- 
nest the desires of every living them. We, the 



122 On the Obligation, the Importance, and 

creatures of thy power, and the dependents of 
thy providence, feel, and acknowledge ourselves 
bound by ten thousand obligations, to fear, to 
love, to serve, and to honour thee ; to inquire 
into thy mind and will, with care, and diligence, 
and to keep thy precepts with alacrity and zeah 
Lord, when we meditate upon thy kindnesses 
and benefits, which have been ever growing, 
with the growing moments of our being, and at 
the same time reflect upon the coldness of our 
devout affections ; on the languor, the reluc- 
tance, and the manifold imperfections of our obe- 
dience ; when we compare thy mercies which 
never fail, with that goodness of ours, which 
is as the morning cloud and the early dew, that 
soon passeth away, we are ashamed and con- 
founded in thy presence, and what can we say 
unto thee, O thou observer of men r— Our 
unworthiness cannot be unknown to thee, for 
whither could we go from thy spirit, or whither 
could we flee from thy presence ? What night 
is there so dark, or what shades of death so 
deep, as to hide our transgressions from thine 
ail-pervading eye ! 

Thou knowest every sentiment and purpose 
cf our souls, if thou seest that we are duly 



the Reasonableness of the Love of God. 125 

humbled under the sense of our past insen- 
sibility and ingratitude, help thou our infirmi- 
ties, and enable us henceforth to serve thee 
with a zeal, bearing some proportion to the 
extent of our obligations, and to love thee, 
with all our heart, and soul, and mind, and 
strength. 



( 124 | 



DISCOURSE IX. 

ON THE CARE AND DILIGENCE REQUIRED TO 
PRESERVE, AND KEEP ALIVE THE LOVE OF GOD. 



JUDE 21. 

KEEP YOURSELVES IN THE LOVE OF GOD. 

TREASONABLE as it is in itself, and most 
important to our own happiness and to the pre- 
servation of our virtue, that we should love the 
Lord our God, with all our heart, and mind, and 
strength, the text plainly implies, that there may 
be some difficulty in preserving and cultivating 
this divine affection. It may be useful there- 
fore to inquire, from what causes this difficulty 
proceeds, and by what means and methods it 
may best be overcome. And here we may ob- 
serve that, 

The habit of attending to things visible and 
invisible, and of pursuing them as important ob- 



On the Care and Diligence required, S(c. 1 25 

jects of our wishes and desires, in proportion to 
the vigour it may add to the influence of such 
objects on our hearts, will, in the same proportion, 
diminish the influence of such as are purely spi- 
ritual ; these, from their very nature, are ever 
wont to escape the notice of the mind, and even, 
when our attention to them is once awakened, 
without great care and diligence, they easily, and 
almost without our observation slide out of it 
again. The impressions of external things, which 
are constantly operating upon us, even if they are 
not the objects of our most ardent pursuit, pre- 
sently displace the impressions of such objects, as 
require the exertion of our attention and resolution 
to apprehend and retain them in view : it is 
only therefore, by a deep and continued atten* 
tion, that any vivid affections concerning spiritual 
objects *can be kept alive in our hearts. That 
attention however, to a mind not long habituated 
to it, is a painful and laborious effort. Again, 

The very means by which the love of God 
must make its impression, are themselves ca- 
pable of excluding it from our hearts, and instead 
of leading us, to him, of engrossing our affection 
and attention to themselves, The works of God, 
the laws and events of providence, and even the 



126 On the Care and Diligence reqiccred 

word of God itself, are all capable of exciting in 
us many different sentiments, besides the love 
of him ; sentiments that have no connection 
with it ; and that, in some instances, are even 
repugnant to it. 

We may gaze upon the works of nature, and 
be highly entertained with the views that they 
exhibit to us ; we may attend to the course of 
providence, and be deeply affected by the various 
scenes through which we pass ; we may have the 
word of God every morning and every evening 
in our hands, and yet for all this, the love of God 
may be a stranger to our hearts — a stranger there 
it will be, if, whilst we are conversing with his 
word, his providence, and his works, we have it 
not in our intention and desire to conceive and 
to cultivate this affection. Each of them present 
a variety of objects in every scene that they set 
before us, capable of exciting a variety of affec- 
tions; and unless, whilst we contemplate this va- 
riety, our attention be particularly and expressly- 
directed to the display manifested by them of 
those attributes of God, which render him the 
object of our admiration and love, our minds 
will be diverted from one object to another, and 
distrafted by a succession of very different im- 
pressions and affections. 



to preserve^ and keep alive the Love of God. 1 27 

To love God, we must have lively apprehen- 
sions of his excellences, and to attain these, our 
attention must not spend itself on those sensible 
and external things which comprehend the no- 
tices of them ; it must not be wasted on the 
mirror, it must look upon the image it contains; 
it must not be diverted by any foreign object, 
but fixed and regulated by the sincere desire, and 
the express intention to possess our hearts of the 
love of God. And, after all, to whatever degree 
of vivacity this affection may be raised by the 
power of serious contemplation, it will quicklv 
need to be revived again. It is a plant too deli- 
cate not to stand in need of constant and un- 
wearied tendance, and perhaps, with all our care, 
it may be impossible in this world that it should 
at all times be preserved in equal health and 
vigour. Yet, the influence of the love of God 
upon our temper and conduct, may be, and 
ought to be habitual. To render them habitual 
however, it is necessary that the impressions of 
the divine excellencies should from time to time 
be renewed upon our hearts ; that the affection 
should from time to time be rekindled there, and 
that the intervals of renewing and rekindling 
these impressions and affections* should not be 
too distant. 



1 2S On the Care and Diligence required 

Though the effects of any sentiment upon our 
temper and conduct may remain after the senti- 
timent itself has subsided in our hearts, yet these 
effects will be impaired by the power of time 
alone ; and the succession of other sentiments 
will assist the power of time to impair them. 
The influences of any affection whatever, which 
survive the affection itself, will be in proportion, 
not only to the vivacity in which the affection is 
conceived, but also to the frequency with which 
it is cherished and revived. 

They who are best acquainted with the love 
of God, in whose hearts it is most familiar, and 
over whose lives it has most power, can tell you, 
how much this sentiment, and the salutary in- 
fluences of it, are liable to suffer from the cares 
of this world; even from the necessary avocations 
and the indispensable business of life. They 
can tell you how this affection needs to be 
refreshed from day to day, by serious conver- > 
sation with the works, the providence, and the 
word of God. They can tell you what power 
it derives by withdrawing from the cares, and 
influences of the world, to attend upon the 
ordinances of religion - y and they can tell you too, 
how necessary a devout and habitual attendance 



h preserve, and keep alive the Love of God. 1 29 

is, not only to its improvement, but even to its pre- 
servation. With all their solicitude and care, they 
do not boast of its vivacity and power ; they re- 
gret the interruptions that it often suffers, and 
the weakness in which it often languishes : their 
comfort is, that God knows their frame and 
their condition, that they can appeal to him 
for their sincerity, and trust his mercy as to their 
imperfection. If, then, we are really desirous 
that the love of God should retain its due influ- 
ence, we must, in the first place, exert a constant 
vigilance to guard against the various unfriendly 
influences of the many different objects by which 
we are surrounded, and of the various occupa- 
tions in which we are necessarily engaged. But 
this is not all ; for, 

In the second place, it is of the utmost im- 
portance that we should sedulously endeavour to 
repress every evil inclination, and to preserve our 
souls an unpolluted temple for the residence of 
the living God. And to this end, we must labour 
to employ our thoughts in such salutary medita- 
tions, as, by convincing us of the baseness, the 
malignity, the ignominy, and the wretchedness of 
sin, shall establish us in the perfect detestation 
of it ; as well as in that wholesome self-discipline 

& 



1 3© On the Care and Diligence required 

that may reduce every rebellious passion, and re- 
store those principles, in which our likeness unto 
God consists, to their just authority in our hearts y 
not, however, suspending any of those religious 
exercises, the immediate tendency of which is to 
awaken in us the sentiments of divine love, until 
this object be completely accomplished ; for, if 
by any means, the love of God can be lighted up, 
and kept alive within our hearts, it will be found 
one of the most powerful instruments to rescue 
us from the bondage of evil habit, to fortify us 
against the power of temptation, and to establish 
us in the glorious liberty of the children of God. 
It is not therefore, either necessary, or advisable, 
that we should neglect to cultivate this blessed 
principle till all inconsistent principles be 
removed ; but, as the prevalence of iniquity 
will obstruct the progress of the love of God, 
and render even the preservation of it extremely 
difficult, it will be our wisdom to call in every 
other principle and exercise of our understandings 
and our hearts, that may succour and befriend it. 
And in this view, the fear of God may co-operate, 
and be made subservient to establish and improve 
the love of God. For, when we consider him, 
not only as hating iniquity, but as preparing the 



to preserve, and keep alive the Love of God. 131 

scourge of chastisement even in this world, for 
all unrighteousness - s and contemplate the ap- 
proach of that awful day which shall consign the 
ungodly and sinner to wrath, tribulation, and de- 
spair, in that which is to come ; we are furnished 
with additional aids to effect an easier and speedier 
reformation, of whatever is wrong in our temper 
and conductc 

Many bonds of union might be traced between 
these two greatest and most active principles of 
religion, What has been said, however, may suf- 
fice to show, that whatever tends to break our 
attachment unto vice, of whatever kind % what- 
ever tends to restrain our inordinate desires; 
whatever tends to abash our evil inclinations, 
does at the same time tend, to promote the power, 
and to facilitate the operations of divine love, 
in the conflict which it must necessarily main- 
tain, (if it be pure and genuine) against every 
thing that is inconsistent with truth and virtue* 

But, in the third and last place ; it is of especial 
importance if we be seriously desirous of pre- 
serving and cultivating the love of God, to 
beware of an earthly mind. We cannot serve 
God and Mammon. 

To the worldly-minded man, gain is godliness 5 

K2 



a 32 On the Care and Diligence required 

it so busily engages his thoughts, so perfectly sa- 
tisfies his low desires and narrow wishes, that he 
perceives no need, and perhaps can scarcely con- 
ceive an idea of any happiness beyond this, or be- 
sides it. By what means shall such a groveling 
spirit be raised to just conceptions, and delight- 
ful sentiments of God ? What can such a man 
discern to allure his thoughts or engage his affec- 
tions in that liberality, that overflowing goodness 
of the almighty, which, whilst it admonishes him 
that it is more blessed to give than to receive, re- 
bukes at the same time with so much severity, 
his own principles and temper ? As far indeed 
as he is interested in this liberality, and actually 
benefited by it, he may possibly conceive some- 
thing like the sentiments of religious gratitude 
and joy ; yet, if you consider how natural it is for 
such a character to be wholly engrossed by what 
he already has, or wishes to obtain ; to regard all 
he possesses, merely as the fruit of his own inge- 
nuity, care, or industry, you will not readily sus- 
pect him of so much infidelity to the idol deity 
he worships, as either ardently or frequently 
to lift up his soul unto him, who is the great 
and sole giver of every good, and every perfect 

gift. 



to preserve, and keep alive the Love of God. 133 

. The love of God, like the word of God, can 
neither thrive nor live among the weeds of world- 
liness; though the seed be sown, though it begin 
to vegetate and open, yet the soil is too shallow 
for it to strike root; it will be devoured by the 
vultures of earthly passions, or scorched and 
withered by the heat of base, ungovernable, and 
envious desires. If then, so base a principle 
as that of worldliness has got root within our 
hearts, let us pluck it up with unrelenting in- 
dignation. If our hearts are happily uninfected 
by it, sensible of its infamy, of its danger, and ir- 
reconcilable inconsistency with the nobler prin- 
ciples of our uncorrupted nature, and our Christ- 
ian calling, with the love of God, and all those 
great and glorious and blest affections that ac- 
company it, that flow from it, and are nourished 
by it | sensible of its inconsistency with all that 
can adorn our characters on earth, or prepare 
our souls for heaven ; let us keep our hearts with 
all diligence ; let us walk circumspectly, lest we 
fall into the snares of this world ; let us walk vi- 
gilantly, lest by its seducing blandishments, it in- 
sinuate itself into' our affections; let us study to 
attain just notions of its value in itself, and of its 
importance unto us, 

K 3 



!34- On the Care mid Diligence required, 

Are the possessions of the world, the pos- 
sessions of the soul? Do they infallibly carry 
with them comfort and delight ? Are they capa- 
ble of being enjoyed in all the circumstances, do 
they remain unaltered through all the vicissitudes 
of life ? Are they stable and secure ; proof 
against all dangers, subject to no violence, liable 
to no change or revolution ? While they soothe 
one principle of our nature, do they no violence 
or injury to any other? While they flatter, do 
they never wound us? While they gratify, do 
they never mortify our souls ? While they smile 
and promise fair, do they never disappoint us 
with sudden frowns, and betray us into vain dis- 
tresses ? Are they as desiiable for their conse- 
quences, as for themselves ? Whilst they possess 
the mind, exclude they not thence any other va- 
luable enjoyment ? Are they attainable by all ? 
Are one man's acquisitions of them, no obstruc- 
tion to the interests of another, no cause of dis- 
content, no object pf jealousy or envy? These, 
my brethren, are properties that by no means 
belong to this world, its possessions, and feli- 
cities ; they are, for the most part, the noble, and 
the precious characteristics of those good affec- 
tions, of that approving conscience, of those spi- 
ritual joys and celestial treasures, which alone 



to preserve , and keep alive the Love of God, 1 35 

are worthy of the warm desires and pursuit of a 
moral and immortal being ; in which, true riches 
and honour alone consist, and without which, 
whatever else you have, and whatever else you 
are, you can neither be happy, safe, nor easy. 

What a portion is this world's goods, for a mo- 
ral, an intellectual, and an immortal being, made 
in the Divine Image, and capable of partaking 
in the glories of a Divine Nature ! What folly 
does it argue, what a wretched choice, what an 
abject taste, to take up our rest on earth, when 
the gates of heaven are thrown open to us ! To 
content ourselves with a low, an insincere, and 
short-lived happiness, when pure, sublime, and 
everlasting joys are set before us ! What a wretch 
is that who can delight to grovel with the insect 
in the dust, when with Angels he might soar into 
the presence, and aspire unto the friendship of his 
Maker ! How unworthy is he even of that hap- 
piness which this world can give, who is capable 
of resting in it as his end, the completion of his 
wishes, and the satisfaction of his desires 1 

But what is the happiness that this world can 
give? Can it defend us from disasters? Can it pro- 
tect us from diseases? Can it preserve our hearts 
from grief, our eyes from tears, or our feet from 

K4 



136 On the Care and Diligence required 

falling? Can it prolong our comforts? Can it mul- 
tiply our days ? Can it redeem ourselves or our 
friends from death? Can it sooth the kins: of 
terrors; or mitigate the agonies of dying ? Can 
it deliver us from the bondage of iniquity ; 
cleanse us from the pollutions of guilt; or 
ease our burdened consciences ? Can it restore, 
or sanctify the mind that we have depraved ? 
Can it purchase for us a favourable issue in the 
day of final retribution, and insure to us an honour- 
able portion, and happy settlement in the un- 
changeable and eternal world ? If not> wherefore 
is it so high in our esteem ? If it be so weak, and 
impotent, and vain, if it have so little influence 
on our most momentous interests, both in this 
life, and in another, why does it lie so close unto 
our hearts ? Why should it light up such keen 
desires, and create such invincible attachments ? 
When my conscience is oppressed with guilt; when 
I am alarmed with the apprehension* of a future 
reckoning, what is the world to me ? What com- 
fort, or what hope can it administer? When my 
conscience bears testimony to my integrity and 
virtue ; when my hopes of a future recompense 
are just and lively — what is the world to me? 
What need I from it ? What want I of its con- 



to preserve, and keep alive the Love of God. 1 37 

solations ? When my heart is torn with grief, or 
oppressed with melancholy ; when my limbs are 
racked with pain, or my body languishing in sick- 
ness, what is the world to me ? That my habi- 
tation is splendid, that my roof is gilded, that 
my dependents are not a few, and my treasure 
not a hide, does this afford me any mitigation of 
my anguish? When the period of life has over- 
taken me, and the awful messenger of death has 
read me the summons of my departure out of it, 
what is the world to me ? When I lie upon a dying 
bed, watching my ebbing life, expecting every 
breath to be my last, and waiting for that solemn 
moment, when the world invisible shall open on 
my soul, what is this world to me ? 

Anticipate that solemn moment; it wdll be 
with you in reality ere long. Place yourselves 
on the verge of time, imagine that your course is 
finished, that your glass is run out ; and from the 
margin of eternity, look at the approaching and at 
the receding w r orld : — how vast, how sudden, 
how inexpressible a change in your conceptions 
and affections ! how much is the one world mag- 
nified; the other, how much diminished in your 
view ! Arrived at such a period, things seen and 
temporal, all that we possessed, and all that we 



13$ On the Care and Diligence required 

wished for upon earth, shrink into vanity and 
nothing: things spiritual and invisible, all that 
we esteemed so lightly, and neglected so un- 
reasonably in the moral and eternal worlds, swell 
into infinite importance, and appear to us all 
in all. How insignificant are the possessions 
that lately were so much prized, and in which 
we so much vaunted ! How cool and languid the 
desires that lately were so fervent and so restless ! 
How indifferent our regards to this world, which 
lately were so cordial and sincere ! 

Why am I so enamoured of a vapour, that ap- 
peareth but for a little while; of a vapour, on 
which before it perisheth, my eyes may be for 
ever closed ? A stranger and pilgrim upon earth, 
why should my treasures and my heart be fixed, 
where my days are as a shadow, gliding hastily, 
constantly, and incessantly away ? Hurried as 
I am down the stream of time, shall I set my 
heart on the fading flowers, that grow upon its 
banks ? No, 1 must not be so injurious to my- 
self; I must not be so ungrateful to my Maker, 
The creature must not hold the Creator's place 
in my esteem. The world must not banish God 
from my heart. Eternity must not be sacrificed 
to the little interests of time. 



to preserve, and keep alive the Love of Gad, 139 

Cease then, thou momentary world ! cease ye 
seducing vanities, flatter us no more with your 
glowing colours, and seductive smiles. Peace, 
ye disturbers of our rest ! Peace, ye vain imagina- 
tions, why are you so busily employed to give the 
world a false importance, to set it forth in falla- 
cious visions, to divert our souls from God, and 
to rob our Creator of our hearts? Let the living 
God be our portion and our stay ; Jet heaven be 
our home and aim ; let us not despise, yet let us 
not overvalue this present world; let us bless our 
Maker for its comforts, while we pray to him to 
preserve us from its snares. " Love not the world, 
neither the things that are in the world. If any 
man love the world, the love of the father is not 
in him; for all that is in the world, the lust of 
the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of 
life, is not of the father, but is of the world ; and 
the world passeth away and the lusts thereof, but 
he that doeth the will of God, abideth for ever." 

PRAYER. 

Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty, who 
art, and who wast, and who art to come ! From 
everlasting to everlasting thou art God, the same 
yesterday, to day, and for ever ! Surrounded as 



1 40 On the Care and Diligence, Uc. 

we are by ten thousand objects that continually 
solicit our attention, interrupt our progress in spi- 
ritual attainments, and call our affections off from 
thee, enable us/ we humbly beseech thee, to be 
ever on our guard, that they gain not the domi- 
nion over us; that they overcome not that love 
to thee, which ought ever to be the ruling prin- 
ciple, and which constitues at once, our duty 
and our happiness! 

The time we know is short, and uncertain as 
,well as short, may we therefore use the world as 
not abusing it, knowing that the fashion thereof 
soon passeth away.— All flesh is as grass, and all 
the beauty thereof, as the flower of the grass, — 
the grass withereth and the flower fadeth, but the 
goodness of God abideth for ever. While we 
continue steadfast in his covenant, we are per- 
suaded that nothing shall ever separate us from 
the love which God hath to us.— O may nothing 
ever cool our love to thee, or at all abate our di- 
ligence, zeal, and alacrity in thy service ! The life 
that we now live in the flesh, may it be by the 
faith of the son of God ; thereby may we finally 
overcome the world, and be presented faultless be- 
fore the throne of thy glory, with exceeding joy. 



( 141 ) 



DISCOURSE X. 

ON THE INCOMPATIBILITY" OF THE LOVE OF 
PLEASURE, WITH THE LOVE OF GOD. 



PART I. 
ii epist. to Timothy iii. 4. 

LOVERS OF PLEASURE MORE THAN LOVERS OF GOD, 

DeVOTION is by no means the characteristic 
of the age. The love of pleasure is one of its 
most striking features 5 it has infected every rank 
of life ; it discovers itself upon every occasion ; 
we meet with evidences of it in every district 
and in every street. Even though the general 
manners were not advanced so far, in nominal 
refinement, but in real depravation, as that men 
were already become lovers of pleasure, more 
than lovers of God ; yet, whoever is acquainted 
with the allurements of pleasure, and the sedu- 
cibility of man, could not be absolutely free from 
apprehension, that when once the love of pleasure 



142 On the Incompatibility of the Loze of 

is become the fashion of the times, it will continue 
and even prevail, in despite of the most vigorous 
efforts of the friends of virtue and religion, to 
subdue or to restrain it, till its oernicious conse- 
quences, by inducing general calamity, have fully 
demonstrated how mischievous and ruinous a 
principle it is. In such conjunctures, though we 
cannot turn the torrent, we may perhaps do 
something to contract its ruinous effects-— we our- 
selves at least may step aside out of its course, 
and may have the power perhaps of taking some 
that we love along with us. 

In the following Discourse therefore, it is my 
intention to show you that there is a real opposi- 
tion between the love of pleasure and the love of 
God. But before we enter upon this topic, it 
may be necessary to observe, 

In the first place, That we mean not to affirm 
this concerning every species of pleasure; and, 

In the second, To point out some of the causes 
which have unavoidably occasioned considerable 
confusion both in our ideas and language upon 
this and similar subjects. And 

First, We mean not to affirm this concerning 
every species of pleasure ; because the greater 
©ur sensibility to moral pleasures, and the higher 
3 



Pleasure, with the Love of God. 14S 

our delight in them, the more lively and the more 
powerful will be our love of God. Neither 
would we affirm it concerning every degree of 
the love of pleasure, in any meaning of the term ; 
because the love of pleasure is a natural principle, 
made necessary by the great and benificent Au* 
thor of our frame, not only to our well-being, 
but even to our existence. All our affections are 
implanted in us by the Author of nature, and are 
then only vicious, when they are perverted to 
those objects to which he has not directed them ; 
or, when their degree, either through excess ot 
defect, corresponds not with the measure of those 
qualities in any object by which they are respec- 
tively excited : and it is only in some or other of 
these circumstances, that they become sinful and 
inconsistent with one another. While every pas- 
sion of our hearts is directed to its proper object, 
and continues in its just degree, so long the gratifi- 
cation of them is practicable and consistent $ 
they encroach not upon each other, and none of 
them are either criminal or disgraceful. 

But, in the second place, it happens that al- 
though we have names for many of our affections, 
significant of their general nature, significant also 
of the affection in its excess or its defect ; yet, in 



144 On the Incompatibility of the Loz e of 

very few instances are we provided with different 
terms whereby to distinguish it when indifferent, 
neither laudable nor blamable, from the same 
affection in its excess, in which, it is in one way 
criminal, or in its defect, in which it is criminal 
in another way. Pride, and anger, are two cen- 
surable passions 5 the one being the excess of that 
affection that is naturally excited by the consi- 
deration of what is worthy in ourselves ; the 
other, the excess of that affection, which insults 
necessarily awaken. But, for these affections, in 
their general nature, in which they are indifferent; 
or in their defect, in which they are faulty, we 
have no appropriate terms. If we would speak 
of them accurately and usefully, we must describe 
them in several terms, and carefully distinguish 
them from pride and anger, which are the names 
only of the excess. 

From this narrowness of language arises much 
confusion in our ideas, giving birth to many 
prejudices, which, in their effects may be hurtful 
to the comfort, and even to the good conduct of 
life ; and hence it becomes necessary, to attend 
closely, and distinguish accurately, when either 
the nature, or the obligations of man, are the 
subjects of our meditation or discourse* 



Pleasure, with the Love of God. t45 

For that affection, or rather for that class of af- 
fections which we comprehend under the deno- 
mination of the love of pleasure, we have only 
this single term to signify its general nature ; we 
have no names to distinguish it according to the 
different objects it embraces, nor even to express 
its excesses or defects. Unless w T e enter into a 
particular description of them, we have nothing 
but this general term by which to express all 
these various sentiments, and all their different 
degrees. But it is obvious, that with regard to 
some objects of delight, our love of pleasure can^ 
not be criminally weak, although in regard to 
others, it may be blamably defective ; in respect 
to some sources of delight, it is not probable, it is., 
not perhaps possible, that it should run into ex- 
cess ; in respect of others, it is very prone so to 
do ; and there is hardly any class of pleasures, in 
respect of which there is not some degree of af- 
fection that is innocent, because natural and un- 
avoidable : hence it follows, that what is true 
of any one thing, which we call the love of plea- 
sure, is by no means true of all that we mean at 
any time by that name. 

The pleasures spoken of by the Apostle, be- 
tween which and the love of God we proposed 

L 



1 46 On the Incompatibility of the Love of 

to show you that there is a real opposition, are 
those which we derive from sensible and external 
objects. In respect of these, there are two dif- 
ferent species of the love of pleasure, which 
although, in the higher ranks of life especially, 
often combined, may however subsist apart, 
and when they do, they constitute two dif- 
ferent characters ; the one pursues the gratifica- 
tions of a vain imagination, and forms the cha- 
racter of the giddy and the gay ; the other, the 
gratification of the inferior appetites, and forms the 
character of the carnal and debauched. The 
hearts of the one, are in scenes of dissipation and 
amusement, and there is their sovereign enjoy- 
ment ; the delight and desires of the other, are in 
.scenes of sensual indulgence, in making or enjoy- 
ing the provision they have made, t£ for the flesh 
to fulfil the lusts thereof/' 

It is not difncult to perceive that, there is a real 
opposition between either of these species of the 
love 01 pleasure and the love of God - 9 for in the 
first place it is obvious, 

That it is the natural effect of both, to divert the 
attention of the mind from those discoveries of 
God, out of which the love of him must take its rise. 

The heavens declare the glory of God, and the 
earth is full of the riches of the Lord j i: Day unto 



Pleasure, with the Love of God. 1 47 

day uttereth speech, and night unto night teacheth 
us," how worthy he is of our affection. The se- 
date and thoughtful will receive these lessons, 
they will feel their influence, and will rejoice from 
day to day in the benignity of their Maker. God 
deals with his creatures according to the faculties 
he has given them. We may know him if we 
search after him, but the discoveries he makes 
of himself, are neither of such a nature, nor 
made in such a manner, as to force their 
way into a mind indifferent to this divine 
knowledge ; they will not obtrude themselves 
upon us, while our hearts and thoughts are em- 
ployed upon other objects, and engrossed by 
very different pursuits. Our religious affections, 
depend upon our religious knowledge ; and both, 
on our attention and endeavours to obtain them. 
The excellences of an unknown God, can make 
no impression on our hearts ; neither can the 
knowledge of God be acquired, or improved, in 
scenes of vanity and dissipation, or amidst the fer- 
ment of licentious pleasures, and irregular desires. 
A mind, inflamed by the expectation, or intoxi- 
cated by the enjoyment of sensual pleasure, hears 
nothing that either Nature or Providence deposes 

L 2 



* 



1 48 On the Incompatibility of the Love of 

concerning God, their author. Their calm, still 
voice must be listened to, in order to be heard ; 
and attended to, in order to be understood. 

It is not when the heart is captivated by the 
frivolous amusements, or when the eye is dazzled 
with " the pride of life," that w T e can see, or are 
disposed to see the manifestations of the glory of 
God. So long as our views are attracted by the 
glare of worldly vanities, or centred on the object 
of some sensual desire, the discoveries of God's 
glory, however obvious, and however clear, will 
elude our observation, they will be to us as 
if they were not. If the current of our affections 
be directed towards sensible objects, and the 
force of habit have once fixed them in that 
channel, it will carry all our thoughts along with it, 
and will leave us little inclination, and indeed 
little power, to employ our attention upon any 
thing that has not some obvious relation to those 
scenes and objects in which w r e have our princi- 
pal delight, It avails not that our general appre- 
hensions of God, his character and government 
may be just. General apprehensions, are always 
too languid and obscure to awaken the affections 
of the heart. It is only by a serious and conti- 
nued attention to the particular displays of the 



Pleasure, with the Love of God. 140 

perfections of God, that the correspondent senti- 
ments can be excited in our breasts : while our 
attention is engrossed by other objects, whatever 
we may know of him in general, our love to him 
will not rise. 

In the second place, There is a real incon- 
sistency between that love of pleasure which the 
Apostle censures, and the love of God, inasmuch 
as it has a natural tendency to render our hearts 
insensible to those excellences of the divine na- 
ture, w T hich are the causes and the objects of that 
affection, which we call the love of God. 

It is one natural effect of religious truth, where- 
ever it is clearly discerned, and cordially embraced, 
to increase our sensibility to moral excellence, to 
raise our ideas of the importance of moral worth ; 
whilst, on the contrary, the school of pleasure has 
never been recommended as a school of moral 
sensibility.. It has often been lamented that, by 
the enchantments of pleasure, the finer feelings 
of the human heart, its attachment unto moral 
excellence, its thirst after true glory, its admira~ 
tion of whatever things are "just, true, pure, 
lovely, venerable, and of good report," have not 
only been enfeebled, but suspended, and not 
only suspended for a season, but sometimes laid 

L3 



1 50 On the Incompatibility of the Love of 

asleep for ever. But our love of God depends 
upon the moral sensibility of our hearts, for it 
must arise out of our perception of the moral 
excellences of his character. In his eternity, he 
is awful 5 in his omnipotence, he is tremendous ; 
it is in the moral glories of his character, that 
God is the object of our esteem, our veneration, 
and our love. It is his purity, his equity, his 
veracity, his fidelity, his love of virtue, his ab- 
horrence of unrighteousness ; his attention to the 
wants, hU condescension to the frailties of his 
creatures, his tender mercies, and his liberal be- 
neficence which extends itself to all his works - y 
these are the perfections that we love in God, 
and in proportion to our sensibility to the excel- 
lence of these perfections, will be the vivacity of 
the love we bear him. If w^e discern nothing 
excellent in these, w r e shall discern nothing excels 
lent in God, except those attributes of indepen- 
dence and of power, which, separated from his 
moral glories, would render him an object of 
terror, rather than of love. If our hearts are be- 
come so callous that these moral beauties can 
make no impression on them, the love of God 
can have no admittance there. 

What think you Christians, is not levity an 

4 



Pleasure, with ike Love of God. 1 5 1 

enemy to piety? Can the love of God maintain 
itself in a life of unceasing dissipation ? Is it in 
a round of frivolous amusements, is it in the 
crowd of ostentatious vanities, that the taste for 
moral dignity is to be acquired? Is it hither 
you would send us to improve and cultivate our 
relish of moral beauty and of spiritual excellence ? 
The mind that is capable of prostituting its affec- 
tions to those vain and trivial things, is that mind 
capable of any deep impressions from the moral 
excellences of its Maker? — Is that mind capable 
of so noble and so elevated an affection as the 
love of God ? Can the soul that dotes upon the 
gaieties and splendours of the world ; that aspires 
to no higher happiness, than what they can 
bestow; that centres all its wishes and pursuits 
on these, can that little soul expand itself to admit 
the influences of its Creator's glories ? 

But if this be true of that species of the love of 
pleasure which constitutes the character of the 
giddy and the gay, what shall we say of the car- 
nal mind ? — Look into the frame of the human 
heart — Look into the world, and you will pre- 
sently be convinced of the destructive influences 
of voluptuousness and sensuality, to deprave our 

L4 



152 On the Incompatibility of the Love of 

principles, to impair our powers, and to Jay waste 
all the beauties and honours of the mind. Whence 
is it, that the men of pleasure are usually as li- 
centious in their principles, as they are libertine 
in their conduct ? Is it not that, whatever tends 
to enliven or preserve their moral sensibility, tends 
to show them to themselves in an unacceptable 
light ? mixes the gall of bitterness with their 
pleasures, arid must be shunned by them at what- 
ever expense ? Is it not that, whatever, on the 
contrary, tends to deaden or destroy this sensibi- 
lity to moral worth, co-operates with their love of 
pleasure, which has itself the same tendency, and 
encourages them to walk " in the ways of their 
hearts, and in the sight of their eyes?" 

To love God, is to delight in him - } but what 
delight can he take in God, whose chosen friends, 
the companions of his unworthy pleasures, are 
the meanest and most detestable Gf mankind ? 
What delight can he take in God, whose soul is 
so much engrossed, one while by the pursuit and 
the anticipation, another while by the enjoyment 
of the basest gratifications, that God perhaps is not 
in ali his thoughts ? What delight can he take in 
God, who has fixed his portion and his happiness 
in licentious pleasure ? Divested of the under- 



Pleasure, with the Love of God, 1S3 

standing that discerns justly between the things 
that differ, divested of the freedom that prefers 
those that are most excellent, unable to raise his 
thoughts to the contemplation, of the Deity; at 
least unable to relish so refined and so sublime a 
pleasure, can a wretch like this have delight in 
God ?- Hardened into such insensibility to every 
thing that is worthy and excellent, to every thing 
that honourably distinguishes the nature, and 
which dignifies the soul of man, what love can 
such a heart conceive for the pure, the holy, the 
spiritual excellencies of God ? What joy will he 
entertain in the contemplation of the divine go- 
vernment, so full of mercy and of love ; or what 
affection will he, whose heart is contracted within 
the narrow sphere of its own meanest interests, 
what affection will he conceive towards that 
God, whose glory and whose praise it is, that 
' his tender mercies are over all his works ?' Sen- 
suality is a gulf of bottomless perdition, where, 
every thing noble, respectable, and excellent is 
lost. It renders us inattentive and insensible to 
those excellences, and the displays of those ex- 
cellences of his, whence the love of God proceeds. 
It would be almost as reasonable to look for this 
amiable principle in the abodes of hopeless misery, 



154- On the Incompatibility of the Love of 

as to seek for it in the corruptions of the carnal 
inind. The carnal mind is the grave of reason, 
of virtue, of devotion, of honour, of happiness, 
and of hope ; it is the disgrace and the curse of 
man ; it is both the enemy and the abhorrence of 
his Maker. If you are ashamed of reason and of 
conscience; if you wish to bid adieu to all that is 
great, and good, and celestial, and divine ; if you 
have no satisfaction in those sublimer powers of 
your frame, by which being like to God, you 
might approach him, and enjoy his favour, bury 
them in the abyss of sensual indulgences, that 
you may abandon yourselves without restraint to 
the dictates of the carnal mind. But remember, 
licentious sinner, remember, that once buried 
there, they may revive no more ; once dead, and 
their death sealed by thy determined profligacy 
and impenitence, they are dead for ever; the sa- 
cred sentiments of virtue will live no more within 
thy breast ; the flames of divine love will ani- 
mate thy soul no more. All is over with thee as 
to heaven and eternity, and the few short hours 
that remain of mortal life, will add little to thy 
pleasure, but much to thy dishonour: and when 
this world has resigned thee, where wilt thou be 



Pleasure, with the Love of God. 155 

found ? To whom wilt thou repair for comfort ? 
Whither wilt thou betake thyself? — To heaven? 
Alas, there dwells that God with whom, in the 
day of thy probation, thou didst live at enmity : 
There dwell those holy spirits who seek their 
happiness in the divine favour, and give up all 
their powers to the influence of his excellences, 
and the fulfilment of his will: These, in truth, 
are the only mansions of light, and life, and joy ; 
but there nothing enters that defileth ; all is 
spotless purity, and ardent love. 

Beware, my friends, beware ye of the carnal 
mind 5 6 it is enmity/ saith the Apostle, c against 
God y the completion of it is miserably fatal ; its 
excesses are dreadfully dangerous ; every degree 
of it wars against the soul, invades its peace, de- 
stroys its comfort, and threatens to dispossess it of 
those divine affections which it is its duty, its 
honour, and its happiness to entertain. Like ail 
other vicious habits, it begins, perhaps, insensibly, 
and proceeds by degrees to its completion': the 
first approaches, therefore, towards it, ought to 
excite your fear, and employ your vigilance. 



13« 



On the Incompatibility of the Love of 



PRAYER. 

O Almighty and most righteous God ! Thou 
art great, and greatly to be feared, and to be had 
in reverence of all those that come nigh unto 
thee. Ever mindful of the snares and dangers 
by which we are surrounded, of the allurements 
of pleasure, and of our own manifold infirmities, — 
may we be enabled to keep our hearts with all 
diligence, that nothing may ever find admittance 
there, that will not bear the eye of God. Pardon, 
we beseech thee, whatever thou mayest have seen 
amiss hitherto, in our temper or our conduct, and 
may it henceforth be our invariable resolution, 
that, whatever others do, we will serve the Lord. 

Sanctify us throughout in every principle of our 
nature. May we net be conformed to this world, 
ensnared by its licentious principles, or seduced 
by its fleeting and unhallowed pleasures; but 
may thy grace, which brings salvation, teach us, 
denying all ungodliness, and worldly lusts, to live 
soberly, righteously, and piously, looking for that 
blessed hope, and the glorious appearing of the 
great God, and our Saviour Jesus Christ, who gave 
himself for us, that he might redeem us from all 



Pleasure, with the Love of God. 1 51 

iniquity, and purify to himself a peculiar people 
zealous of good works. May we ever keep it in 
remembrance, that if we hold out unto the end, 
our day of recompense will be proportionabk 
glorious and happy, and by a patient continuance 
in well doing, may we seek for glory, honour, 
and immortality, till we have obtained the crown 
of life. 



( 158 ) 



DISCOURSE XL 

ON THE INCOMPATIBILITY OF THE LOVE OF 
PLEASURE, WITH THE LOVE OF GOD. 

PART II. 
it epist. to Timothy iii. 4. 

LOVERS OF PLEASURE, MORE THAN LOVERS OF GOD, 

T he heart of man is contracted or dilated ac- 
cording to the objects on which its affections are 
employed. Are they mean and trivial ? Great, 
and noble, and important objects may present 
themselves before it, but they will leave no im- 
pressions there. Are the objects, great, and noble, 
and important to which the stream of its affections 
has been ordinarily and habitually directed? what- 
ever objects do not answer to this character, 
though they may make some faint and transient 
impressions, will solicit the dominion of it in 



On the Incompatibility, Ssc. 159 

vain. It is not from the giddy and the gay ; it 
is not from the vain and the dissipated, from those 
who are devoted to the frivolous pastimes, or the 
glaring pageantry of life; it is not from these, 
that we expect any great achievements in the se- 
rious affairs even of this world ; we reckon, and 
experience justifies that account, that they are 
incapable of conducting them ; we expect to 
find, and experience ordinarily justifies the ex- 
pectation, that they are incapable of being pro- 
perly impressed by them. It is not in a heart 
like this, that you look for any great degrees, or 
any wise exertions of parental tenderness, of filial 
affection, or of faithful friendship. This is not the 
character in which you would wish to clothe 
either your fathers, or your children, or your 
friends ; and wherefore ? what reason can you. 
give for that reluctance to conceive of those with 
whom you are thus connected, under such a cha- 
racter, but the persuasion, which experience of 
human nature and of human life, has wrought in 
you, that levity consists not .with any just sensi- 
bility of spirit ? 

It is a very serious truth, to which the attention 
of this age should be perpetually called, that levity, 



160 On the Incompatibility of the Love of 

as well as sensuality, may superinduce an impe- 
netrable callousness upon the human heart ; and 
in time, through the power of habit, may render 
it absolutely unimpressible by the weightiest and 
most interesting objects in the universe. It should 
be reminded also that, the love of pleasure, from 
which both these affections spring, is a contagious 
passion, the principle subsists in every heart, is 
inseparable from human nature, and may easily 
be kindled into an undue degree of ardour. Its 
excesses easily communicate themselves from 
heart to heart; the fire runs and spreads and 
diffuses itself far and wide. — Alas, you need not 
look far into the world-, to see the exemplification 
of this melancholy truth ! Of you, my friends, 
I would hope that, to engage you to beware of 
so pestilent a principle, I need not to urge you 
with any other argument than this single con- 
sideration, that you cannot reconcile the love of 
pleasure with the love of God. If, to be con- 
formed to this world, be inconsistent with your 
conformity to the image of the son of God, you 
will not suffer yourselves to be carried down by 
the tide, either of prevailing vices, or of fashion- 
able vanities. You know that, upon your con- 
formity to his image depends the dignity of your 



Pleasure, with the Love of God, 161 

character, your peace of mind, your hope in God 
while you live in this present world, and your 
safety also and happiness, in that eternal world to 
which you are going ; " for, if any man have not 
the spirit of Christ, he is none of his." — On your 
love to God, you know, depends his love to you; 
whoso honoureth me, saith God, I will honour, 
but whoso despiseth me, shall himself he lightly 
esteemed. 

And can you Christians, can you, to the love of 
pleasure, sacrifice the love of God? If the maxims, 
the manners, and pursuits that prevail around you, 
are injurious to this sacred principle, you will 
step aside out of the stream in which it would be 
extinguished. The pleasures of sin, you well 
know, are but for a very short season, and for these, 
surely, you will not relinquish your hope and 
expectation from his mercy,. which endureth for 
ever ! 

It is no pleasing prospect to be a spectator of 
the vices and follies of men, but it is a much 
better state than to be a partaker in them. Who 
would not choose to stand, though it were alone, 
upon the rock of ages, loving God, and beloved 
by him, than to plunge into the downward current 
of licentious pleasures and unprofitable vanities^ 

M 



1&2 On the Incompatibility of the Love of 

although thousands of all that the world calk 
great and honourable, were embarked upon it, 
and invited him to join them ? If therefore it ap* 
pears to you that the love of pleasure is incon- 
sistent with the love of God, in any degree incon- 
sistent with the subsistence, the establishment, or 
the growth of this heavenly affection, the charac- 
ter of the text will not be your character; what- 
ever becomes of the love of pleasure, you will 
hold fast your love to God. If you must deny 
yourselves, it will be in the meaner, rather than 
in the nobler affections of your nature ; you will 
disdain a life of pleasure, if you cannot find it in 
living unto God. But, even this sacrifice, small 
as it Would be in comparison, will not in ordinary 
cases be rendered necessary ; for, 

It is to the honour of true religion, that it is a 
reasonable service $ that it requires of us no rigor- 
ous austerities, or superstitious mortifications 
that while the service of vice is absolutely incom- 
patible with the gratification of all our natural 
principles, and requires the sacrifice of the best, 
to the indulgence of the meaner passions, Reli- 
gion provides for the gratification of them alL 
By the proper regulation of their objects and 
their measures, she reconciles their interfering 



Pleasure, with the Love of God: 163 

interests > and it is by the observance of her 
precepts alone, that they can be made harmo- 
nious and consistent. To gratify one vicious 
passion, it must often happen, that another vi- 
cious passion must be mortified : the benefit and 
pleasure of every vice, (so far as there is any be- 
nefit or pleasure in them) cannot be combined 
together : but all the virtues harmonize perfectly 
with each other, and with religious pleasures ; 
may live together in the same heart ; and do not, 
necessarily, exclude from it any one innocent 
enjoyment. 

Where the love of God is the sovereign princi- 
ple, the love of pleasure may have its sweetest 
gratifications 5 but, where the love of pleasure is 
the sovereign principle, there, the love of God 
must languish and decline. Where the ques- 
tion is, how may I recommend myself to God ? 
where his approbation is made the great end of 
life ; there, whatever he hath given us the capa- 
city and the opportunity of enjoying with inno- 
cence and prudence, will naturally be embraced 
by us, as an agreeable at least, if not a laudable 
concurrence with the kind intentions of our Ma- 
ker, and the friendly invitations of his provi- 
dence. But, where the only question is, in what 

M 2 



1 U On the Incompatibility of the Love of 

Can I indulge myself? where amusement and en- 
joyment is proposed as the great end of life, 
there, the love of God, if it could be supposed 
that there was a capacity of relishing devotional 
enjoyments, is an object by no means sufficiently 
obvious and sensible, to be taken into the account 
of happiness ; it is of too remote and refined a na- 
ture to be sought after by the sensual, for the 
sake of the pleasure it affords. 

Will the carnal mind exert itself to make invi- 
sible and spiritual things the objects of its de- 
liberate contemplation? will that which it re- 
lishes in the works of God, lead . on the carnal 
mind to the perception and the adoration of his 
moral glories ? Will these be the chosen subject 
of its thoughts ; and to cherish the sentiments 
that belong to them, its desire and delight? Can 
the carnal mind conceive a purpose so remote 
from its habits and its pleasures ? Will it wil- 
lingly, will it seriously, will it frequently employ 
itself in the creation, in the providence, and in 
the oracles of God> with the intention to excite 
and to enliven its affection towards him ? If its 
Creator's excellences can indeed excite any good 
affections in it, will it watch over the affections 
they have excited, that they may not in its inter- 



Pleasure, with the Lave of God. 165 

course with other things be extinguished or die 
away ? Will the carnal rpind be jealous, lest, in 
its familiarity with sensible and external things^ 
it should contract an indisposition towards reli- 
gious sentiments and affections, or an inability of 
conceiving them with vivacity and readiness? 
Will it therefore often be returning to those reli- 
gious meditations and devotions, which have 
power to renew the impressions when they are 
decaying, to revive the love of God wjien. it is 
languishing, and to keep our hearts as sensible 
as they ought to be, to spiritual, moral, and eter- 
nal things ? Will the carnal mind have these 
solicitudes, and employ these means from time 
to time to perpetuate upon it the influence of the 
love of God ? If you cannot believe this, neither 
can you doubt, that there is a real inconsistency 
between this species of the love of pleasures and 
the love of God ; for without the exercise of such 
solicitudes, and the application of such means,, 
even in the mind that is not carnal, the love of 
God cannot be maintained in any tolerable mea- 
sures of vivacity and power. Again, 

If such solicitude, care, and attention, be need- 
ful to maintain and cultivate this divine affection, 
can it flourish., can it live in the hearts of tha 

M 3 



16$ On the Incompatibility of the Love of 

giddy and the gay ? Will they, to whom thought 
is fatigue, who fly from amusement to amusement 
to save themselves from their own minds ; will 
they be induced, will they be able, to abstract 
their thoughts from visible and external things ; 
to fix them on God who is a spirit, whom no man 
hath seen or can see, and all whose excellences 
are spiritually discerned? — But what need have 
We to reason on the subject? Did ever any one 
expect to find a man of pleasure at his devotions? 
delighting in the opportunity of retiring to his 
closet; pleased to indulge the sacred sentiments 
of religion, and assiduously cultivating the love of 
God ? Is it the men of pleasure that crowd our 
religious assemblies? Is it the men of pleasure 
that adorn our sanctuaries with a truly decent, and 
serious demeanour ? with an appearance that be- 
trays no constraint, no uneasiness, no impatient 
dissatisfaction, or indifference ? Is it the men of 
pleasure that sanctify the day of God ? — But it is 
not necessary in behalf of the doctrine I maintain, 
to multiply these inquiries; even with themselves 
I may lodge the appeal: it is no part of their 
pride that they are religious ; this is a character 
that they are more apt to deride than to affect; 
they do not ordinarily, even pretend to be devout.— 



Pleasure, with the Love of God. 167 

Yet, my friends, suffer not yourselves to be de- 
ceived; let no man conclude that because he 
hath not fully arrived at the open contempt or even 
at the total neglect of religion and religious ordi- 
nances, that therefore he is not a lover of plea- 
sures, more than a lover of God. True religion 
cannot subsist with the love of pleasure, but the 
form of godliness may consist with and encou- 
rage it. The offices of devotion, both public and 
private, may be performed, may be regularly and 
habitually performed from very different motives, 
and for very different ends. To nourish the spirit 
of devotion, to promote the love of God, they 
cannot be performed, where the love of pleasure 
is the ruling principle to deceive the world, to 
deceive the persons themselves, they may. Try 
your devotions, do you mean to be really religious, 
or to appear so ? In reflecting on them, do you 
consider the fruits of genuine piety that have 
arisen out of them ; or, are you more disposed to 
attend to the merit you think there is in them ; 
and under the consideration- of this merit, to ex- 
cuse or to connive at those indulgences, of which 
you have at least some suspicion that they are 
not right ? If it be so, your piety is irreligion^ 
and however unwilling you may be to believe if, 

M4 



565 On the Incompatibility of the Love of 

however averse to have others think so, you are 
indeed lovers of pleasure more than lovers of 
God. 

But to return, You are saying to yourselves 
perhaps, that your pleasures are none of them 
forbidden pleasures, and that you need not to be 
warned against the practices of which you are not 
guilty. Indeed, my friends, I would gladly hope, 
that to warn you against pleasures that are de- 
cidedly licentious, to exhort you to beware of 
criminal indulgences, whether of appetite or ima- 
gination, would be superfluous and impertinent 
You, I would willingly persuade myself, have 
not so learned Christ— You are too well ac- 
quainted with his doctrine concerning the condi- 
tions of acceptance with your Maker, to think of 
reconciling the hope of future happiness, with 
the indulgence, either of the cf lusts of the flesh, 
or, the lasts of the eye, or of the pride of life," in 
any forbidden instance, or by any forbidden means. 
But is it unknown to you, that no man suddenly 
becomes abandoned I Is it unknown to you, that 
vice steals into the heart by imperceptible degrees, 
and acquires her dominion over us in such manner 
and by such means as may be least alarming I 
Is it unknown to you that she allures , our ap- 



Pleasure, with the Love of God. I6D 

prbaches towards her, first by one step, in which 
considered in itself there may be nothing blame- 
able, and afterwards by another, which compared 
with the former may be very little different 
from it, till, at length, by differences so minute 
that they escape our notice, or perhaps even 
encourage our advances, she accomplishes the 
greatest revolutions in our character, and alters 
it from good, to less good, from less good to evil, 
from evil, downwards through its various stages, 
till we arrive at last at the most abandoned ? Is 
this, my friends, unknown to you ?— Are you so 
ignorant of the deceitfulness of sin, of the power 
of habit, and the influence of example, as, that 
in an age when the love of pleasure seems to be 
continually gaining ground upon the love of God, 
the caution to beware of it should be deemed 
superfluous ? It cannot be. Vice ever lays hold 
on some natural propensity to bring us into her 
power; a good reason surely why we should 
keep an attentive eye and a steady rein upon 
these principles of our frame that are most sedu- 
cible, and the more steady, and the more atten- 
tive, in proportion as external circumstances fa- 
vour their undue increase, or encourage and faci- 
litate their corruption. 



110 On the Incompatibility of the Love cf 

If there be, as you have seen there is, a real 
opposition between the love of pleasure and the 
love of God, it behoves us at every time and in 
every scene, to set a guard upon this principle ; 
but, in a scene and at a time in which almost every 
thing around us, tends to induce, to inflame, and 
to embolden this principle, it behoves us to be 
doubly vigilant and resolute to restrain its wan- 
derings, and to check its growth. 

I will suppose, if you will have it so, that you 
neither are guilty, nor in danger of becoming 
guilty, of any such voluptuous indulgences, as, 
considered singly, and in themselves, are crimi- 
nal ; yet you have no reason to conclude from 
this, that in respect to the love of pleasure, either 
your temper or your conduct is what it ought to 
be. Though none of your pleasurable gratifica- 
tions, considered singly, be criminal either in their 
nature or in their degree, yet, notwithstanding 
this, your character may still be exceedingly in- 
excusable and unworthy. It is not merely the 
criminal gratifications of this passion that are in- 
consistent with the love of God, it cannot con- 
sist with even a prevailing taste for pleasure. 
Where the desire and the pursuit of pleasure have 
formed and fixed the habits of the mind, there, 



Pleasure, with the Love of God. 171 

in that mind there is no room for the love of 
God. Sensuality and levity of spirit, though they 
should be so restricted, by regard to credit, or to 
interest, or by any other principle, as never to 
break out into any flagrant violations of the law 
of God, are, nevertheless, where they constitute 
the temper of the heart, irreconcilable enemies 
to the genuine love of God. — Do not then, my 
friends, soothe yourselves with the thought, that 
your pleasures are neither of the basest nature,, 
nor indulged to an extravagant degree - } consider 
what your temper is ; what are your prevailing 
affections ; what are your habitual pursuits ? Is 
pleasure (not spiritual or moral, but worldly 
pleasure of some species or other,) the idea that 
first meets you in these several inquiries ? — -You 
are not then uninterested in any admonition that 
warns you to beware of the love of pleasure. 
Do not flatter yourselves with the reflection, that 
carnality or levity is not your appropriate cha- 
racter. 

A prevailing taste for the gaities of the world ; 
for its entertainments and amusements, though 
they be fashionable ; for its games and pastimes, 
though they be much practised, if, not in every 
respect equally ruinous, yet, is as really incompa- 



112 On the Incompatibility of the Love of 

tible with the genuine sentiments of devotion, 
and with the principles of pure and undefiled 
Religion, as that carnal mind which you pro- 
nounce to be highly ignominious, and the enjoy* 
ments and pursuits of which, it may be, are cor- 
dially despised by you, or perhaps even held in 
absolute abhorrence. 

Would you then wish to love God ? Do you 
acknowledge this to be the subject of the first and 
great commandment ? Do you own it, for what 
indeed it is, the fundamental principle of all 
practical Religion ? Do you believe, that they 
who love not God, have nothing to hope for from 
his friendship?— Beware of the love of pleasure ; 
it has a natural tendency to deprive you of the 
purest pleasures of the present life, and at the 
same time to disqualify you for the sublimer hap- 
piness of the life that is to come. 

What will be the pleasures of the world when 
vou are arrived at that hour, beyond which you 
can stay no longer in it ? Such an hour you know 
will come, and you do not know how soon. 
What think you will be the reflections of the 
carnal mind on its sensualities, when death is 
pulling down the fleshly tabernacle, and the 
soul is starting forth into the invisible and spirit 



Pleasure, with the Love of God. 11% 

tual world ? When it is going into the presence, 
when it is going to the judgment seat of God, 
will its sensualities stand instead of piety ? will a 
life devoted to the pleasures of this world, stand 
instead of a life devoted to the service of God ? 
Will the vain, the giddy, and the gay, they whose 
happiness consists in the amusements of the 
world, and the entertainments of a roving and 
capricious imagination ; will they be happy when 
all the amusements of the world, when all their 
wonted entertainments, when flesh and heart, 
and every earthly consolation fails them ? Will 
they bring their gayety along with them into 
that serious hour ? Will their levity attend them 
through the vale of death, and carry them with 
comfort through the solemnities of judgment ? 
Will it recommend them to the friendship of 
their Maker ? Will it entitle them to a blessed 
immortality ? Will it qualify them for the busi- 
ness and the happiness of heaven, that, with a gajr 
unthinking heart, they passed through life, de- 
lighted with its vanities, unimpressed by its im- 
portance, inattentive to its business, and careless 
of its' end ? Will it cheer them in the solemn sea- 
son of their dissolution, that in spite of every ad- 
monition to bring them unto serious thought, and 

7 



174 On the Incompatibility of the Love of 

to engage them in the proper business of life, 
their insensibility, giddiness, and levity, had still 
maintained itself uncorrected ? Will these be 
sweet reflections, capable of soothing their de- 
parting pangs, capable of enlivening the gloom 
of death ? Will they then feel no want of the 
sentiments and hopes of piety ? Will they then 
suffer nothing for having permitted the vanities 
of this life to exclude the Author of their being- 
from their hearts ? Whose will be the most tran- 
quil death-bed ? Whose will be the most plea- 
surable immortality ? His, whose probationary 
period has been wasted on the gayeties and follies 
of life, or, his, who devoted it to the exercise, to 
the culture, and the obedience of the love of God ? 
The man who loves this world, will leave this 
world with reluctance and with terror. The man 
who loves God, will go to the God he loves, 
with pleasure and with joy. In the grave, there 
is no provision for the flesh to fulfil the lusts 
thereof ; in the grave, there are no objects to en- 
tertain a vain imagination. What the men of 
pleasure call pleasure, suffers many interruptions 
from the inevitable afflictions of life, and has a 
certain end, when life ends ; and here the im- 
mortal fruits of it begin, bitter and distasteful 



Pleasure, with the Love of God. 175 

fruits ! — Bat the love of God is a source of pure 
and stable satisfaction which afflictions need not 
interrupt, which death cannot end, which the 
life to come will prolong, improve, immortalize., 
and perfect. 

Beware then of the love of pleasure ; take heed 
lest it seduce, deceive, and destroy you. Keep 
your hearts with all diligence, since out of them 
are the issues of life. Your affections cannot be 
more worthily fixed than upon him who im- 
planted them within you. — fc My son," saith God, 
" give me thy heart ," 51 Thou shalt love the 
Lord thy God," saith the Son of God, cc with 
all thy heart, and soul, and strength, this is the 
first and great commandment." 

PRAYER. 

O almighty and most righteous Father— 
Who can understand his errors, cleanse thou us 
from secret faults $ keep back thy servants also 
from presumptuous sins, let them not have do- 
minion over us, then shall we be upright before 
thee, and innocent from the great transgression, 
Enable us, we humbly beseech thee, to be ever on 
our guard, resolutely to withstand the first ap- 
proaches of whatever would alienate our affec- 



176 On the Incompatibility, 3C£. 

tions from thee, or at all impede our diligence^ 
seal, and alacrity in thy service ! 

We thank thee that thou hast given us a law, 
exemplified in the life of our blessed Lord, to be 
a light unto our feet and a lamp unto our paths. 
May it sink deep into our hearts, ever maintain- 
ing the dominion there, till at length, through 
thine infinite mercy, we arrive in the land of ever- 
lasting uprightness : — there, may we celebrate an 
eternal triumph over sin, and sorrow, and infir- 
mity, and satisfied with thy likeness, be for ever 
happy in thine heavenly presence 1 



( 1T7 ) 



DISCOURSE XII. 

CHARACTERISTICS OF THOSE WHO ARE GO- 
VERNED BY THE LOVE OF PLEASURE. 



ii epist. to Timothy iii. 4. 

LOVERS OF PLEASURE MORE THAN LOVERS OF COD. 

HaVING already endeavoured to evince that 
there is a real opposition between that love of 
pleasure condemned by our Apostle, and the 
love of God ; the importance of the subject 
seems to require, in order to assist you in the 
great duty of self-examination, that we should 
specify some marks or signatures of that charac- 
ter, in which the love of pleasure so fatally pre- 
vails. Those marks of it which are most obvious, 
we shall merely enumerate, dilating upon such 
only, as may not at first sight appear to be so di- 
rectly opposed to the love of God. 

If, then, to gratify your love of pleasure, you 
violate the commands of God : — If, through the 
Influence of the same principle, you neglect to do 

N 



178 Characteristics of those who art 

what he requires of you : — If, in gratifying your 
love; of pleasure, you disqualify yourselves for the 
practice of your duty , you most assuredly fall 
under the censure of the text. — Moreover, 

If, though your pleasures are not a violation of 
the law of God, though they do not exclude it 
from your regard, nor disqualify you for your 
duty ; yet, if you believe that they are unlaw- 
ful, and pursue them still ; or, if you believe 
that the measure in which you are accustomed 
to indulge yourselves in them are unlawful ; or, 
that the means is so by which you obtain that 
indulgence, and still persist to proceed such 
lengths, and to seek it by such means ; it is not 
easy to discover, how you can elude the charge, 
of being lovers of pleasure, more than lovers of 
God. Again, 

If, though you are not quite certain, yet if you 
suspect that yourpleasures areunlawful ; or that the 
length to which you pursue them is so ; or that the 
means by which you seek after them is unlawful ; 
and yet, uninfluenced by this suspicion, you 
neither change your conduct, nor satisfy your- 
selves concerning it, you are lovers of pleasure 
more than lovers of God. 

But, passing these observations as being so ob- 



'governed by the Love of Pleasure. 179 

vious as to require only to be stated, to obtain 
general assent, we now proceed to those remarks, 
on which we proposed to dilate, in order more 
powerfully to prove their validity. And first, 

If through the love of pleasure you neglect the 
business of life, you cannot doubt about your 
character, for the business of life is a part of the 
work which God hath given you to do ; and if 
you loved the master above every other object^ 
with all your heart, and soul., and mind, and 
strength, could you indulge any such extravagant 
desires after the vain amusements or the sensual 
enjoyments of the world as should tempt you to 
neglect his work ? Wherever true ideas of the 
business of life are entertained, that business will 
not, from any motive, be neglected, so long as the 
heart is governed by the love of God. 

Look around you, take a serious survey of hu- 
man life, observe the necessities to which man is 
subject, the labours to which he is compelled, 
the sufferings to which he is exposed, the obliga- 
tions by which he is bound, and from which he 
cannot by any arguments persuade himself that 
he is released; consider what the conduct is to 
which he is prompted, and what are the issues 
of conforming to the impulses of nature, or of con- 

N 2 



ISO Characteristics of those who are 

science, or of resisting them* and then say what you 
think of this present state ; is it a scene of plea- 
sure, or a school of discipline ?— Was it meant for 
a state ©f idleness, dissipation, and self-indul- 
gence ? or, is our term of life a term of service, 
in which it is expected that we should be dili- 
gent in business, faithful to our own best in- 
terests, and useful unto all who are within the 
reach of our beneficence ? Were we sent into 
this world to enjoy its pleasures, or to improve 
its opportunities ? Are our powers and facul- 
ties proportioned only to our present state, and 
incapable of being exalted into any thing above 
it ? Is the gratification of sensual appetite, or of a 
vain imagination, the great end and object of our 
existence ? Is this in every man's power ? Would 
any man approve himself, if he aimed at nothing 
more excellent than this ? Is this the end to 
which every other thing is to be made subser- 
vient ? — to which every other interest is to be sa- 
crificed ? Does it import us nothing what we 
have done in this world, and what character we 
are of when we go out of it, provided we have 
been amused, and entertained, and gratified, du- 
ring our stay in it ? Was it the primary intention 
of God, in sending us into this world, that we 



governed hy the Love of Pleasure. 18 \ 

should give the rein to every importunate desire, 
or that we should be formed to virtue ? Which 
of these is it that he recommends to us as the 
first object of our endeavours and pursuits, and 
in which of these views is it that he requires our 
co-operation ? If the object of God, in sending 
us into this world, was our complete enjoyment 
of it, how comes it to pass, that this object is not, 
never has been, and probably never will be at- 
tained in any one instance ? If it was not his 
chief intention to form us to virtue^ to all good 
habits, and to all moral excellence, whence comes 
it to pass, that there is no state, no. circumstance, 
no single occurrence of the present life, that is 
not capable of being applied by us to the im- 
provement of our own characters ? If it cannot be 
believed, that in making man, ancj administering 
to him his various 1 circumstances, it was the ulti- 
mate design of God, that he should spend a few 
short years in pleasure ; then it follows, that he 
has some business in this world ; that every man's 
peculiar business lies in that sphere in which the 
providence of God has appointed him to move, 
and that the proper business of his station, is, in 
truth, the work of God. — And can any man love 
God and neglect that work, to gratify himself } 



IS 2 Characteristics of those who art 

If the magistrate were pursuing his pleasures, 
while the injured and oppressed were imploring 
in vain for justice at his gates ; if the parents of 
a family were pursuing their pleasures, whilst their 
children wanted bread, or, although they should 
be provided with the necessaries of life, whilst 
thev needed to be formed to useful knowledge, to 
prudent and virtuous habits \ whilst they v/ere in 
want of example to encourage, as we]l as of pre- 
cept to direct them ; what would you think of 
those parents or of that magistrate ? If any man, 
indifferent about his temper, his conduct, his use- 
fulness, and the prosperity of his own soul, should 
desert the proper business of his station to go in 
quest of entertainment ; if this were a constant 
habit, if this were a frequent practice, what would 
you think of that man ? Could you believe that 
the love of God dwelt in him ? that this was his 
ruling principle; that he loved the work which 
God hath given him to do ? You could not hesi- 
tate in making the contrary decision. You could 
not for a moment doubt but that this man, that 
magistrate, and those parents, were lovers of 
pleasure, more than lovers of God. 

But there are some, perhaps, who will be ready 
to alledge, that they have no business, no appro- 



governed by the Love of Pleasure. 18$ 

priate work. If it be so, their circumstances 
must be very singular, and exceedingly deplorable. 
If you have no work, you have no talents, you 
have no external possessions by which any living 
creature can be benefited 5 you have no know- 
ledge which may be serviceable either to your- 
selves or others, and you are incapable of attain- 
ing to such knowledge, or of acquiring such 
possessions ; you have no faculties that can be 
improved; none that can be usefully applied; 
your reason is extinct, your moral life is at an 
end, and your character is sealed up unto the 
great day of account.— But how consists these 
things with the ability to make this an apology 
for having made a business of pleasure ? Whar 3 
though it be not necessary that you should la- 
bour for your own support, or for the support 
of those who are dependent on you, are there 
none to be found who stand in need of your re 
lief, your consolation, or your assistance ? Are 
there none who want admonition, to whom your 
instruction might be useful, your counsels ac- 
ceptable ? Are there none who might be the 
better for such encouragement as you could give 
them ; who would be thankful for any testimony 
of your esteem and friendship ? Are there none 



184 Characteristics of those who are 

whose spirits you might cheer, whose hearts you 
might revive, whose darkness you might en- 
lighten, whose troubles you might mitigate, 
whose happiness you might augment, whose 
follies you might restrain, whose virtues you 
might animate, whose labours you might al- 
leviate, whose usefulness you might extend ? 
In such a world as this, can you look around 
you, and not meet with objects and opportuni- 
ties to find employment for your beneficence ? 
You cannot go far, if your eyes be not so intent 
upon pleasure, that you see or observe them not, 
before they will rise up and present themselves 
unto you. 

But, let the supposition, (improbable, or rather 
impossible as it is) be admitted, that there is 
nothing wanting, nothing due from you to others ; 
is there nothing wanting, nothing due unto your- 
selves ? have you no work to be done at home ? 
is every thing within your own breasts in that 
exact order in which it ought to be ? is every thing 
there in such perfection as it might be ? If you 
think so, you will have enough to do to un- 
deceive yourselves, and to acquire a just acquaint- 
ance with your obligations and your character: — 
if you think otherwise, with what countenance 
can you plead, though it were to your own 



governed by the Love of Pleasure. 185 

heart only, that there remained nothing to be 
done by you in this world, but to pursue your 
pleasures and amusements ? If you have been ac- 
customed to conceive, that they who have no 
need of worldly occupation to procure for them- 
selves the means of subsistence, are at liberty to 
give themselves up to the pursuit of any pleasures, 
that are not in themselves infamous and cri- 
minal, it will require no little time, and no little 
pains to correct so false and dangerous an idea of 
human life, and human obligations. There is no 
living man, if he has not survived his reason and 
his conscience, to whom there remains not some 
work, some duty, some indispensable duty, to be 
done. Is it then any argument of your love to 
God, that you neglect that duty, that your lives 
are devoted to pleasure, that you live carelessly, 
that you are lovers of your ownselves r 

In the second place, If the love of pleasure so 
far prevails, as to render you discontented with the 
condition and circumstances that God hath as- 
signed you, although the pleasures in themselves 
are all lawful pleasures, just in their means, and 
moderate in their measure, as well as innocent in 
their nature, you are lovers of pleasure more than 
lovers of God. 



18-6 Characteristics of those who are 

But, it may be a^ked, can the love oF pleasure, 
can a lively relish of the world and its enjoy- 
ments, produce fruits so austere and ungrateful, 
as the sentiments of fretfalness and discontent ? 
Can such vexatious passions find admittance and 
entertainment in the heart, where the love of 
pleasure reigns ? — Why, tell me Christians, do 
the men of pleasure always seem perfectly con- 
tented with their condition r — A cheerful com- 
placency in appointed circumstances,, a patient 
acquiscence in the lot assigned, are these the 
inseparable concomitants of the love of pleasure ? 
are these in general the characteristics of the men 
of pleasure | Look into the world ; is the conti- 
rissl endeavour, the eager struggle, the various, 
and oftentimes the dishonourable expedients that 
./-. employed to enlarge their circumstances, that 
they mry give a looser rein unto their pleasures, 
are these the symptoms of a heart contented and 
at ease, acquiescing in its circumstances, and 
well pleased with its conditions ? If it were not 
for the love of pleasure, " the lusts of the fleshy 
the lusts of the eye, and the pride of life," should 
we see so much of that restless and aspiring 
spirit which urges all the various orders of men 
to press upwards into the ranks of those who 
stand above them? which animates them so con- 



governed by the Love of Pleasure. I £7 

stantly to watch every opportunity, use every in* 
terest, and employ every art to extend their in- 
fluence, improve their figure, and enlarge their 
possessions ? What is it that excites this keen 
desire, that prompts these strenuous endea- 
vours ? What is it that gives such vivacity 
to their admiration, or their wishes, when they 
look up to the condition of those who stand 
higher in the world ? Has the love of pleasure no 
share in the production of these effects ? if other 
causes do concur, yet is not this the very root of 
the evil ? Is it not the indulgence of themselves, 
the more perfect, the more extensive, or the more 
elegant gratification of their appetites, or of their 
imaginations, that these men aspire after, in their 
eager strife to enlarge their worldly circumstances? 
Is it not this that makes them regard with envy 
every superior condition, and that renders them 
uneasy in their own ? Confine your desires within 
the limits that reason and religion have pre- 
scribed, and there will be little danger that your 
hearts should ever become a prey to the corrosive 
sentiments of envy and discontent, But, let the 
love of pleasure usurp the dominion ; give the 
reins to this pernicious principle ; let appetite or 
imagination govern you, and it probably will 
not be long that your hearts will remain con- 



1S8 "Characteristics of those who art 

tented with your condition > your ability must be 
great indeed, to satisfy the demands of such insa- 
tiable and capricious governors : — it will not 
then be enough that in your frame, both the 
animal and angelic natures are united ; it will 
not be^ enough that your Creator hath spread 
around you innumerable scenes of comfort and of 
joy. When once you have departed from the line 
of nature, and transgressed the bounds of reason, 
another blessing and another may be added, 
your insatiable desires will not be satisfied, till 
nothing more be left that can be given, till they 
have stripped every other being in the universe 
of its possessions, and placed you on the throne 
of the most high. — Vain man i whilst devoted 
to the service of such masters, canst thou y be at 
peace, resigned to thy situation, thinking well 
of it, as that which divine wisdom hath made 
choice of for thy good ? or, whilst impiously 
arraigning the appointments of his providence, 
canst thou pretend that the love of God is the 
ruling affection of thy heart Is not a cheerful 
complacency in the circumstances in which God 
hath placed us, among the certain fruits of that 
blessed affection ? 

Tell me, ye who are discontented with your 
condition, whence that discontentment springs? 



governed by the Love of Pleasure, 189 

Inquire into the causes of it - } in different 
instances, these may be different ; butjn every 
instance, I am well persuaded, this one great 
reason will occur, you are not governed by 

the love of God. -When is it, Christians^ 

that this divine affection is least lively and 
least active ; is it not when you have been giving 
way to such reflections on the present state of 
man, or on your own particular circumstances, as 
have encouraged the sentiments of discontent 
to take possession of your hearts ? When is it 
that your hearts are most susceptible of the love 
of God ? Is it not at those happy seasons, when 
you see most clearly what reason you have to be 
satisfied with this present state, and with your 
own particular allotment in it ? and if this be so, 
what doubt can there remain, that there is a na- 
tural and necessary connection between the love 
of God on the one hand, and a contented ac- 
quiescence in our circumstances, on the other ? — 
" My God, though I know a little, yet am I 
greatly ignorant of the connections,, that I, and 
that every thing that respects me has, with that 
mighty system of beings, in the midst of which I 
find myself. I am ignorant of the consequences 
which my present circumstances may produce, 
but in this I am very happy, that none of all 



190 Characteristics of those who are 

these things are unknown to thee, and I am well 
persuaded, that the God whom I serve, is love. 
Dark and narrow as my views are, what an 
enemy might I, yea what an enemy must I have 
been to those I love, and to myself, had I been 
the disposer of my own circumstances ? — I re- 
joice that they are not of my own choosing, but 
of thine. It may happen, it does happen, that 
there are those things in them, which, for the 
present, are not joyous but grievous j yet this, 
my God, cannot prevent my complacency in thine 
appointments, nor cool my affection unto thee ! 
Whatever may be the first impressions of thy 
dispensations towards me, I am well persuaded 
that the fruits and consequences of them are in- 
tended for good y that they may be good, and 
will be good, to myself, and to all who are con- 
nected with me. I rejoice therefore, O my God, 
in all thy appointments ; I envy no other station ; 
my wishes stray not, and they shall not stray be- 
yond thy will ; for I know that what thou ap- 
point est to me is best." 

Is not this, my friends, the genuine language 
of the love of God r You know it is ; but how 
different from this is the language and senti- 
ment of dissatisfaction and discontent ? — " Thy 



governed bj/ the Love cf Pleasure-. ] $ 

sovereignty, Lord, I must acknowledge ; I dare 
not dispute thy title to dispose of me and my 
affairs. But how many things there are, that 
would be good for me, which thou hast denied 1 
And how many things do I labour under, from 
which it would be kind in thee to deliver me 
without delay ! Thou hast enabled me to dis- 
cern between the things that differ, and inclined 
me to prefer those that are most excellent ; give 
me then the powers that correspond with this 
ability, or, let thy power and providence be di- 
rected according to my wishes and desires." — Is 
not, this the natural language of discontent ? You 
do not think it too highly coloured ; you do not 
think I have done that character an injury ; but 
would it not be an injury to impute such senti- 
ments to the love of God r — Attend to the cha- 
racter of your Lord and Master, in whom the 
sentiments of love to his heavenly Father, though 
so lively and fervent, were not more sincere or 
more powerful, than his resignation to the will 
of God, and his complacency in the divine ap- 
pointments. " The cup that my Father hath given 
me, shall I not drink it ?— Thy will, not mine be 
done 1" — If such were the language of his soul in 
circumstances of the deepest distress, and acutest 



192 Characteristics of those who are 

suffering, what then Christians, ought to be yours } 
Does it not follow, that since contentment with 
our condition is the natural effect of the senti- 
ments and affections that we owe unto God, the 
author of our frame, and the disposer of our cir- 
cumstances ; if, through the influence of any prin- 
ciple whatever, we become discontented with 
what we are and have, the love of God has not 
so much power over us, as that principle ? and if 
the principle from which our discontent pro- 
ceeds, be the love of pleasure, then are we lo- 
vers of pleasure, more than lovers of God ? 

PRAYER. . 

Deeply sensible of the importance of thy fa- 
vour O thou almighty and ever living God, we 
would be anxiously solicitous to keep ourselves at 
the greatest distance from any of those scenes, 
pursuits, or engagements which might alienate 
our affections from thee, or at all impair our dili- 
gence, zeal, and alacrity, in performing the work 
which thou hast given us to do ! Warned by the. 
gracious admonitions of thy holy word, may we 
flee from the wrath that is to come ; and ani- 
mated by the exceeding great and precious pro- 
mises it contains, may it henceforth be our su- 



governed by the Love of Pleasure. 193 

preme solicitude to perfect holiness, in thy fear ! 
In all piety to thee our God, in all charity to 
man, in the good government of our own hearts 
and minds, in purity, in patience, in meekness 
and humility, in contentment, and in all the graces 
and virtues that compose the Christian spirit, 
may we continue and abound still more and more. 

In the day of our prosperity we will rejoice in 
thee, as the Author of all our comforts and our 
hopes — we will bless and praise thee with a pure 
heart fervently ! — In the day of adversity, we will 
consider 3 we will humbly inquire what may be 
the intention of thy visitations towards us.— We 
will meditate on thy loving-kindnesses which have 
been ever of old ; we will call to mind our former 
deliverances; and though our hearts should be 
cast down, and our souls disquieted within us 5 
still will we hope in God, assuredly trusting that 
we shall yet praife him, who is the health of our 
countenance and our God ! 



O 



c m ) 

DISCOURSE XIIX. 



CHARACTERISTICS OF THOSE WHO ARE GO- 
VERNED BY THE LOVE OF PLEASURE. 

PAUT IL 
it epist. to Timothy iii. 4. 

LOVERS OF PLEASURE MORE THAN LOVERS OF GOD, 

In order to assist the serious inquirer, really de- 
sirous of forming a just estimate of his own cha- 
tacter, # we endeavoured in a former Discourse to 
point out some of those marks or signatures of 
that love of pleasure which is inconsistent with 
the love of God : and*we now proceed, in the 
first "place, to a short examination of what are 
called the instrumental duties of religion, their 
nature and object, and secondly to show, that if 
these are neglected for the sake of pleasure, 
another argument hence arises, that in us the 
love of pleasure is stronger than the love of God, 



Characteristics of those, i(c. 195 

The instramenwkdtfties of religion then are 
those, upon which the formalist, who is more 
concerned about the credit of his piety'than the 
truth of it, lays the greatest stress ; and which he, 
who affects a superior greatness and freedom of 
mind, exempt from vulgar prejudices and super- 
stitions, is very apt to depreciate and despise. 
They are those duties by which we may be im- 
proved in religious knowledge, by which the 
spirit and temper of real piety is assisted and pro- 
moted ; by which we are confirmed in virtuous 
resolutions, encouraged to cultivate good affec- 
tions, and excited to persevere and abound in all 
good works. A good heart and life, being the 
essentials of religion, the primary object of ail re- 
ligious dispensations j— of all religious ceremo- 
nies and institutions ; for this%pason, all those 
religious services and institutions, which contri- 
bute to this end, to sanctify the hearts and lives of 
men, are denominated instrumental duties. They 
are not duties of the highest order, and in whatever 
instances both cannot be discharged, instrumental 
duties must give way to thofe- more important obli- 
gations to which they look as their object and end. 
However, though not duties of the highest order, 
they are duties notwithstanding 5 and the obliga- 

O 2 



196 Characteristics of those who are 

tions to observe them remain in full force, when- 
ever those that are fuperior do not exclusively 
require our attention. 

But it is not merely from their tendency and 
influence that the obligation of these duties is de- 
rived : we are bound to observe them, it is true, 
because they tend to raise us to the perfection of 
our nature, and to promote the great end of our 
existence ; but, though they had no such tendency 
that we could perceive, would any man affirm 
that we were at liberty as we might choose, to 
worship God, or to neglect him 5 to converse with 
the word of God, or to reject it ? and to attend 
on the institutions of religion, or to forsake them ? 
Can the heart, which is as it ought to be, under 
the power of those good affections in which true 
holiness consists, £an that heart neglect the insti- 
tutions* of religion, forget the word of God, or 
forbear the wwship of its Maker ? A just atten- 
tion to the instrumental duties of religion, is a na- 
tural and irrestrainable expression of real, ge- 
nuine, and substantial godliness; nor are there 
any of its duties that are not, in their general na- 
ture at least, in themselves obligatory. As on 
the one hand, there is not an instance in the 
higher order of duties, but, while it is in the 



governed by the Love of Pleasure. 197 

highest degree obligatory in itself, is at the same 
time also an instrumental duty in respect of others 
which must be combined with it to make a per- 
fect human character ; so, neither on the other 
hand, are there any instances among the duties 
of inferior order, but, while they are instrumental 
in respect of other duties, are at the same time 
obligatory in themselves.— The love of God is a 
duty of the highest order, the obligations to which 
can never in any instance be superseded ; and 
yet the love of God, may with great propriety be 
considered as an instrumental duty, in respect to 
the love we owe to all his creatures ; for, does not 
the love of the Father tend to excite, and cherish, 
and enliven, our affection to his children ? 

So again, the love of our l|^hbour, which 
is itself a duty of the highest order, the obligation 
to which cannot be dissolved, may not it also with 
very great propriety be considered as an instru- 
mental duty, in respect to the love of God ? for 
does not the love of his creation tend to enkindle 
our devout affections towards the Creator ? The 
greater interest we have in the welfare of his sub- 
jects, will not our joy in his government, and our 
admiration of his character, be the greater ? The 
higher our delight in the happiness which they 

0 3 



1 98 Characteristics of those who are 

enjoy, the more lively will be our affection unta 
him, from whom it comes. In like manner, of 
those that are distinguished as instrumental duties 
©f religion, there is scarcely one that is not obli- 
gatory in itself, abstracting from all consideration 
of its influence and of its tendencies : there is not 
one, but what is either the genuine result, and 
the natural concomitant of those good affections, 
in which true holiness consists ; or is bound upon 
us by the express authority of God ; or is a tri- 
bute of reverence and honour that would be due 
from us to him, even though, in respect either 
of our character or our happiness, we had no in- 
terest in paying it. They tend indeed to make, 
us better men, but, w T ere it true, that in other 
respects we comJB arrive at the same degree of 
excellence, to wrach a just attention to these du- 
ties would promote us, yet, without a just atten- 
tion to them, our characters would not be faultless 
and complete. Though praises and thanksgivings ; 
though adorations, supplications, and confessions; 
though a frequent and reverent attention to the dis- 
coveries which God hath made unto us, of himself, 
his government, and purposes,, had no efficacy in 
them to improve our hearts and minds 3 to form 
us to the divine likeness ; to quicken us in all the 
duties of this present life, and to promote our 



governed by the Love of Pleasure. 199 

meetness for the spiritual enjoyments of a better 
life to come ; they would, notwithstanding, re- 
main for ever, as long as our circumstances and 
relations are the same, a decent, reasonable, and 
indispensable acknowledgment of God's excel- 
lences and mercies ; and of our own guilt, weak- 
ness, and dependence. 

If, then, the instrumental duties of religion have 
the authority of God, and, at the same time, their 
own innate reasonableness, as well as great utility,, 
to recommend them, who would depreciate the 
instrumental duties of religion ? The number to" 
which they have been vainly multiplied ; the fo- 
. reign circumstances with which they have been 
presumptuously combined 5 the extravagance 
with which they have been magnified ; the un- 
warrantable confidence whio^Mie superstitious 
have been taught to place in them ; and the 
unreasonable expectations from them which they 
have been encouraged to entertain, have con- 
tributed, it may be, to sink them too low in 
the esteem of many, who in other respects think 
more liberally, and upon the whole perhaps, more 
justly of religion, 

The name also by which they have been distin- 
guished, may probably be another cause of the 

04 



* 



1 



200 Characteristics of those who are 

injustice that has been done them: they have 
been regarded as merely instrumental, as deriving 
all their value, from the end to which they lead* 
and all their obligation, from the obligation of 
that end , and on these principles, in the en- 
deavour to obtain for true religion a perfect 
triumph over superstition, they have been denied 
the honour which is justly their due, and de- 
graded into the class of those things, which, ab- 
stracted from their connections and influences* 
are in themselves of no real worth ; whereas in 
fact, as you have already seen, if, what are called 
the instrumental duties of religion, are in one 
view the means of holiness, they are, in another 
view, a part of true holiness itself. 

But, suppose it were the fact, that the instru- 
mental duties oMp^gion were nothing more than 
the appropriate means of acquiring, maintaining, 
and improving, that temper and character in 
which God delighteth, and which he hath re- 
quired of us as the condition of his friendship 
and acceptance ; admitting this, can the man 
whom pleasure calls away from the observance 
of them, be really governed by the love of God ? 
or, if pleasure does not call him from them, yet 
if it be suffered to disqualify him for the accept- 
able and the profitable discharge of these duties, 



governed by the Love of Pleasure. 201 

Is that man governed by the love of God ? If he 
love God he would desire to be like God, he 
would be solicitous to please him, he would seek 
his favour with his whole heart. Without holi- 
ness, no man can see God ; without holiness, 
no man can be like God ; without holiness, no 
man can please God ; if he love God, who is glo- 
rious in holiness, he will love holiness itself ; if 
he aspire after the divine favour, he will follow 
after holiness ; and following after holiness, as 
his chief desire, and his highest interest, could he 
be tempted to neglect the means that must bring 
him thither ? Anxious about the end, would he 
neglect the means ? Would he be unsolicitous to 
employ the means of attaining to this excellence, 
or to employ them in such manner as should 
promise the most ample sferess ? Whatever 
may be the cause of this neglect, is most evi- 
dently the object which he prefers to God. If 
pleasure be the cause, pleasure is that object; 
and the man, on whom pleasure can prevail, to 
neglect the instrumental duties of religion, is a 
lover of pleasure, more than a lover of God. If 
he be not fatisfied with this evidence of so unac- 
ceptable a truth, it is probable that it will not 
be very long before he will have other evidences ; 
for it is not likely, that the man who is at present 



202 Characteristics of those who are 

guilty of neglecting the instrumental duties of re- 
ligion, if he persevere in that neglect, will con- 
tinue to persevere in those ways of wisdom to 
which they lead. The pleasures which have now 
sufficient power to persuade him to forsake the 
means, will ere long, have sufficient power to 
render him indifferent about the end. 

If you neglect the means of acquiring know- 
ledge, no man expects that you will ever become 
wise ; if you neglect the means of acquiring 
wealth, no man expects that you will ever be 
rich: if, in this world of dangers, you neglect 
the means of preserving health, it cannot be hoped 
that you will preserve it long ; neither can it be 
hoped, in this world of snares and temptations, 
that you will preserve your virtue long, if you 
neglect the ins|r«mental duties of religion. — 
What think you of the inference that may rea- 
sonably be made from that neglect at present ? 
how like you the prospect it affords, in respect 
to the time to come? 

In the morning, when the good man is at his 
devotions, where are you ? Surely you do not be- 
gin the day with sensuality or vanity; from 
morning until night you do not devote it unto 
pleasure. No, it begins at least, with business. 
With what business ? with such as has the en- 



governed by the Love of Pleasure. 203 

iargement of your worldly pleasures for its ob- 
ject, and the hope and anticipation of that en- 
largement, for the solace of its labours ? If the 
day begin thus, how does it end ? in unedifying 
company, in vain amusements, in licentious en- 
tertainments ? or, if perchance your narrowness 
of fortune has debarred you from these pleasures, 
does it terminate in fretful, envious, and regret- 
ful thoughts about them ? Are these the avoca- 
tions that keep you from your devotions? or, if 
they have not absolutely this power, do they send 
you to your closets in a state of such dissipation, 
insensibility, and dulness, as to convert a scene, 
so capable of yielding yon the suhiimest enjoy- 
ments, and the most important benefits, into a 
tedious, irksome, and unprofitable ceremony? 
If it be so with you, what think ye of your- 
selves? — are ye christians indeed, or in name 
only? imitators of Christ in reality, or merely in 
profession ? lovers of God, or lovers of pleasure ? 

While the good man, retired from the world, 
is conversing with those oracles of God that are 
able to make him wise unto salvation, with what 
are you conversing ? what is it that employs your 
leisure? what is it that amuses your retire- 
ments ? Is it the oracfes of human folly ? the ora- 
cles of modern licentiousness ? Those vain and 



2G4> Character istics of those who are 

trifling productions of a vain and trifling age^ 
whose best effect is to amuse the passing hour, 
but whose influence stops not there, since they 
seldom fail to suggest the most unjust ideas of 
^hurnan life, and of Divine Providence, and to 
awaken the most dangerous, if not the most cri- 
minal affections of the human heart ; is it so with 
you? Are these the entertainments that, from 
day to day, are robbing your immortal spirits of 
the bread of life? the entertainments that keep 
the word of God out of your hands ? the enter- 
tainments that concur with your secular employ- 
ments to leave you no time to form your souls to 
the relish of spiritual enjoyments ? Are these the 
entertainments that, from day to day, are rob- 
bing your immortal spirits of the bread of life? — 
What think ye of yourselves ? are you as rea- 
sonable as you affect to be ? as much christians 
as you would be thought to be? are you lovers 
of God, or lovers of pleasure ? 

Sometimes, it may be, you do retire from the 
world, and in that retirement, it may happen, 
that you have nothing to employ you more agree- 
ably than your own thoughts. On what is it 
that they fix themselves? what is it that directs 
and governs them ? do they ever glance upon 
your own character? if they do, do ' they ever 



governed by the Love of Pleasure. 205 

dwell there ? Are they guided by reason, or ima- 
gination ? are they steered by any serious pur- 
pose of amendment or advantage, or merely com- 
mitted to the gales of fancy for the present pur- 
pose of amusement, and turned adrift to go 
wherever inclination carries them ? Are they em- 
ployed in recalling, in anticipating, in picturing 
"~ some scene of external pleasure, or worldly en- 
tertainment ? Are these the thoughts that pre- 
clude the study of your real characters from your 
attention, and hide you from the observation of 
your own minds ? Are these the thoughts that 
engross the sacred moments which ought to be 
employed in communing with your hearts, in 
considering your ways, in rectifying what is amiss 
in them, and in confirming what is right? Is 
this the case with you ? what think ye of youiv 
selves ? is the favour of God your supreme con- 
cern ? is the likeness of God the chief object of 
your solicitude ? are you lovers of God, or lovers 
of pleasure ? 

You are not among the number of those who 
make the day of God a day of pleasure, who 
rest from the works of this world, for no other 
end, than to devote themselves to its amusements. 
When I look for you in this house of God, there 

&re not many of you whom I am accustomed to 

• o 



206 Characteristics of these who are 

find wanting here. But think, my friends, what 
are the dispositions with which you come hither? 
Do you come with your minds fatigued, or your 
thoughts dissipated, by your last night's pleasures 
and amusements ? or with your hearts full of the en- 
tertainments you are to return to on the morrow? 
While you stand here as worshippers of God, are 
your hearts really worshipping some idol of 
worldly pleasure? While you sit here, as God's 
people sitteth, apparently attending on the dis- 
pensing of his word, are your thoughts roving into 
other scenes, and in quest of such entertainment 
as shall enable you to support the tedious hours 
that you spend here ? When you go hence, do 
you reckon the duties of the day discharged, and 
instead of consecrating the remainder to reflec- 
tion and devotion, do you give it unto pleasure ? 
Do you come hither to atone, as you imagine, 
for a custom with which you are not perfectly 
satisfied, and to which you could not otherwise 
reconcile your minds of postponing all thoughts 
of God on every other day, to every other object ? 
Do you come hither not to be edified, but amused ? 
Do you come hither with no higher wish than to 
be entertained for the time you spend here ? 
If you find that you must indeed answer in the 
affirmative to any of these interrogatories, let me 



governed by the Lore of Pleasure. 207 

prevail with you, for once, to keep the answer 
of your consciences in view, and, when you go 
hence, to ask yourselves, in the retirements of 
this day, another question, viz. Are you really 
godly, or do you only wear the form of godliness ? 
Are ye lovers of God, or lovers of pleasure ? 

My friends, you have much to do with God ; 
yourselves and every thing in which you have 
any interest,- are absolutely in his hands. You 
have far more important transactions with him 
than any that you are conscious of in this world ; 
it will not be very long before the youngest of 
this audience will find it so. The time will 
come, I could tell the day beyond which it will 
not be deferred, but the day before which it will 
come, I cannot tell ; the time will come when 
you will find this world vanishing away, and 
another opening upon you, this world of trial 
ending for ever unto you, and a sense of ever- 
lasting recompense commencing. You know 
as well as I do, would to God that you would 
let the idea sink deep into your hearts, that the 
round of this world's pleasures will not last for 
ever. The rose will fade, the eyes grow dim, 
and the heart grow faint, and all that is of this 
world become incapable of administering, even a 
pomentary cordial or amusement. You know as 



20S Characteristics of those who are 

well as I do, would to God that you would let 
the thought take possession of your souls ! that 
the time will come when the warmest appetites 
will be cold, when the acutest senses will be dull, 
when the liveliest fancy will be languid, when 
the giddiest sinner will be serious, and the drow- 
siest conscience awake. The time will come, 
of which your preachers have so often warned 
you, when your bodies shall be undistinguishable 
from the dust that flies before the wind, and 
when that dust shall have as much interest in the 
gayeties and sensualities of those upon whom it 
falls, as you ! Long before that time arrives, the 
day may come upon you, when, on a dying bed, 
while you watch for the moment that is to stop 
that beating heart, you shall lookback upon the life 
that you have spent, and forward into the eter- 
nity that is to receive you. In that awful season, 
whence will you derive your comfort ? to whom 
will you apply yourselves, to pleasure, or to God ? 
I have seen devotion triumph in the arms of 
death, but you need not wait until that awful 
period, to be perfectly persuaded, that pleasure 
cannot triumph there. It is not the remembrance, 
that you have loved pleasure more than God, 
that can give you confidence when you are en- 
tering into his presence : it is not this convic- 



governed by the Love of Pleasure, 209 

lion that can comfort your attending friends : 
if you love them, if you love your own souls, let 
God have your first attentions, let your duty 
regulate your pleasures. 

The considerations that have been addressed 
to you, are considerations by which you ought to 
be impressed — -you think so yourselves. Some of 
you, perhaps, are impressed by them. Cherish 
the impression. No artifice has been employed 
to fix any false impression on you, It is the 
simple truth that has been set before you, you 
will find it to have been such, ere long. Carry 
the ideas, carry the sentiments that have been 
suggested to you into every scene of pleasure into 
which you go ; that you may never at any time 
be affected by such scenes, otherwise than you 
ought to be affected; that your pleasures may 
never be of any other kind, or of any other mea- 
sure, of repetition, or concurrence, than is inno- 
cent and laudable ; but being perfectly con- 
sistent wit! the spirit of devotion, and w T ith all 
that the Lord your God requires of you, while 
you live may be pursued without remorse or sus- 
picion, and, when you die, reflected on without 
apprehension or regret. 

P 



Characteristic of those who are 



PRAYER. 

0 Lord God Almighty — we would not dare 
to come into thy presence, or to cast ourselves at 
thy footstool, but in the exercise of reverence 
and godly fear. When we stand before our 
Maker, we would be clothed with humility, and 
sunk into the deepest sentiments of self abase- 
ment. Thine eye penetrates into the inmost re- 
cesses of the soul, thou searchest the heart, and 
triest the reins of thy worshippers, even the 
heavens are not clean in thy sight* and thou 
chargest thine Angels with folly. What then is 
man that thou shouldst be mindful of him, or 
what the son of man that he should hope for thine 
acceptance of his services ? We do not hope, by 
any services of ours, however serious, devout, or 
faithful, to add any thing unto thee, for thou, O 
Lord, art infinitely exalted above all adoration, 
blessing, and praise ! Our desire and hope is, 
that by these means we may attain to thy like- 
ness and thy favour; and, that, by our attendance 
on the ordinances of thine earthly courts, we may 
be -qualified for the services of that nobler temple 
into which nothing enters that defiles ! This 
thou hast encouraged us to expect from our de- 
vout approaches to thee, and aspiring after these 



governed by the Love of Pleasure. 211 

blessings, which we esteem as our highest pri- 
vilege, we thank thee that it is permitted us to 
pour out our hearts before thee. 

May no allurements of this world ever tempt 
us to forsake or to neglect the assembling of 
ourselves together in acts of religious worship ; 
and may it be ever our sincere desire and steady 
resolution to bring forth fruits mete unto re- 
pentance ; mete for the invaluable privileges 
which in the gospel we enjoy; and do thou, O 
God, strengthen us with strength In our souls, 
prosper our endeavours to walk worthy of the 
Lord, unto all well pleasing, and to stand in all 
thy statutes and thine ordinances blameless. 



P2 



( 212 } 



DISCOURSE XIV. 

ON THE APPEARANCE OF CHRIST, AFTER HIS 
RESURRECTION, TO MARY MAGDALENE. 

PART X. 

John xx. II 17* 

BUT MARY STOOD WITHOUT AT THE SEPULCHRE WEEPING i 
AND AS SHE WEPT SHE STOOPED DOWN AND LOOKED INTO 
THE SEPULCHRE, 12. AND SEETH TWO ANGELS IN WHITE, 
SITTING THE ONE AT THE HEAD, AND THE OTHER AT THE 
FEET, WHERE THE BODY OF JESUS HAD LAIN*. l3 -AND THEY 
SATD UNTO HER, WHY WEEPEST THOU ? SHE SAID UNTO 
THEM, BECAUSE THEY HAVE TAKEN AWAY MY LORD, AND 
I KNOW NOT WHERE THEY HAVE LAID HIM. 14- AND WHEN 
SHE HAD THUS SAID, SHE TURNED HERSELF BACK, AND 
SAW JESUS STANDING, AND KNEW NOT THAT IT WAS 
JESUS. 15. JESUS SAID UNTO HER, WOMAN WHY WEEPEST 
THOU? WHOM SEEKEST THOU? SHE, SUPPOSING HIM TO 
HAVE BEEN THE GARDENER, SAITH UNTO HIM, SIR, IF 
THOU HAVE BORNE HIM HENCE, TELL ME WHERE THOU 
HAST LAID HIM, AND I WILL TAKE HIM AWAY. l6 - JESUS 
SAID UNTO HER, MARY ! SHE TURNED HERSELF AND SAID 
UNTO HIM, RABBONI ! WHICH IS TO SAY, MASTER. 

These words we find in the history of Christ's 
resurrection. However marvellous that event 1 
was in itself, yet the circumstances in which it 



On the appearance of Christ, &(c. 213 

is described are so natural and probable, and 
the narration of it so plain and simple, that 
these things will avail more to procure it the 
attention and the belief of every reasonable 
mind, than a thousand artificial difficulties or 
sophistical objections to undermine its credibi- 
lity. As this part of the history is not the least 
beautiful, and as it appears neither barren of 
serious reflection, nor incapable of moral appli- 
cation, I have chosen it for the subject of these 
Discourses. Let us, therefore, review it more 
particularly, opening the ideas, and intermingling 
such observations, as may tend at the same time 
to fix and enliven our conceptions of the fact ; to 
illustrate the sense and sentiments of the passage, 
or to point out the uses to which it may be applied. 

Two days had now passed since those pious 
women, who followed Jesus from Galilee to 
Jerusalem, had attended the mournful .scene 
of his crucifixion, and had left the body of their 
Lord in the Arimatheans tomb. The sabbath 
interrupted those testimonies of respect, which 
they owed to the remains of a friend so highly 
honoured, and so much beloved. When the 
sabbath was elapsed, and it was now lawful for 
them to proceed in their preparations to embalm 

P 3 



£14 On the appearance of Christ, after 

the body, early in the following morning, Mary 
Magdalene, with the other women, repaired to 
the Sepulchre. They saw the stone taken away 
from the door of the Sepulchre, and they found 
that the body was not there. Perplexed at this 
discovery, Mary, returning to Peter and John, 
they hastened with her to the Sepulchre. After 
they had satisfied themselves of the truth of her 
report, they believed the fact to be as she had 
said, that the body was conveyed to some other 
place. They thought it, probably, a vain attempt 
to make any further search, and, disconsolate and 
afflicted, returned to their own homes. 

Mary's zeal, however, could not so rest satis- 
fied. Ponde ring m ner ne art, what accident 
could have happened to her Lord, Mary stood 
weeping by the tomb. Distracted amidst a 
thousand perplexing thoughts,her imagination was 
unable to fix itself on any. She began, perhaps, 
to question whether her senses might not have 
mis inf armed' her ; she hoped, she wished, she 
was almost ready to belr%e, that her Lord might 
still be there. Her tears were yet flowing, and 
her heart unsettled, when, to satisfy herself, she 
looked once more into the Sepulchre. She found 
not indeed her Lord, but she saw there those 



his resurrection , to Man/ Magdalene. 215 

celestial Spirits that had ministered unto him, 
Jesus had risen from the grave, according to his 
prediction. 

His disciples seern not to have had the least 
expectation of an event like this, and bewildered 
by their wrong conceptions concerning the na- 
ture of the Messiah's kingdom, they were unpre- 
pared to receive the intelligence. These celestial 
spirits therefore remained here, to receive the 
visit which the women meant unto their Lord, to 
explain to them how it came to pass that their 
Master was not there, to procure a serious regard 
to his resurrection by the impressive solemnity 
of this testimony, and to suggest to their minds, 
or to recall to their remembrance such considera- 
tions as might confirm their faith in it, and 
through their report, facilitate the assent of their 
brethren. 

These observations are justified by the dis- 
course that passed between the angels and the 
women, during Mary's absence, whilst she was 
returning to the city to inform the disciples that 
the sepulchre had been opened, and that the 
bpdyhad been conveyed away. 

By whatever means, or for whatever reasons 
jthese illustrious Ministers had been unobserved 



216 On the appearance of Christ, after 

by Peter and John, they concealed not them- 
selves from so disconsolate a mourner as Mary, 
Had she looked again into the tomb, and seen 
nothing there but the grave clothes of her 
Lord, when afterwards she was suddenly ad- 
dressed by him, her surprise perhaps might have 
overpowered her, or her doubt and despair might 
have been so confirmed, that she would have 
been incapable of giving credit to her senses, and 
would have treated the salutation of her Master 
as a vain apparition, the illusive creature of her 
own imagination. These courteous strangers 
therefore, kindly revealed themselves to her, 
they seemed to take a friendly part in her dis- 
tress, and compassionately asked her, Woman s 
why weepest thou?' Because, said she, in the 
fulness of her heart, in all the artless simplicity of 
sorrow, because they have taken away my Lord, 
and I know not where they have laid him. 

Did Mary imagine, that the Arrmathean had 
prevented her in those last sad testimonies of re- 
gard, that she meant to her deceased Lord ? Did 
she fancy that he had already done the last kind 
offices to the lifeless body, and conveyed it to 
some other mansion in the house of death, where 
it might for ever lodge, forgotten and undis- 



his resurrection , to Mary Magdalene. 217 

turbed ? Or, is it more probable that she painted 
to herself, that precious corpse, consecrated as 
jt was by the pure, the good, the pious spirit, by 
which it had so lately been animated, exposed to 
the malicious insults of insatiable persecutors ? 
or abandoned in some unfrequented solitude, 
neglected and unknown ? Whatever were the 
particular conceptions which dictated these 
words, it is plain that they were exceedingly dis- 
tressful ; for, no sooner had she mentioned the 
cause of her affliction than she turned herself, it 
might be, to conceal the excesses of her grief. 
Jesus was behind her, but she knew not that it 
was he. Blinded by her tears, or over whelmed 
by her sorrow, she at first knew not either his 
appearance or his voice. She took hjm for the 
keeper of the garden; she thought no one needed 
to ask her why she wept, or whom she sought ; 
tell me Sir, said she, if thou hast borne him hence, 
where thou hast laid him, and I will take him away. 
Christ, not untouched with the feeling of her 
infirmities, is no longer able to sustain the trial 
of her .affection. He saw 7 her anguish, and said 
to her, in a voice that carried deep conviction 
and comfort to her heart, " Mary !" — c Look at 
; me Mary, dost thou not know thy Lord ? I 



213 On tlie appearance of Christ, after 

c see the sincerity- and zeal of thy affection, and 
e thou Mary hast the honour of being the first eye- 
• c witness, that he who was dead is alive again, 
* and lives for evermore !• 

It has generally been supposed, but it is un- 
doubtedly an error, that the Mary who wept 
at the tomb of Jesus, was the once licentious 
Mary w r ho had shed tears of penitence on his 
feet*. Mary Magdalene, on the contrary, as ap- 



*The learned and excellent Dr. Lardner addressed a pamphlet 
in the year 175S to the benevolent Mr. Hanway, who, however 
worthy, was not a Scripture Critic, on the impropriety in the 
thing itself, as well as on the injustice done to the memory of 
this excellent person by his intention of calling the house to be 
erected, for the reception of penitent prostitutes, " a Magdalene 
House." In this pamphlet the subject is thoroughly examined, and 
it is proved beyond the possibility of a doubt, that Mary Mag- 
dalene is always mentioned by the sacred writers with the 
greatest respect. After a very minute and accurate examina- 
tion of the subject, Dr. Lardner proceeds as follows: "Let us 
" now sum up the evi4ence. Mary of Magdala was a woman of 
" distinction, and very easy in her worldly circumstances. For a 
" while she had laboured under some bodily indisposition, which 
"our Lord miraculously healed. For which benefit she was ever 
** after very thankful. So far as we know, her conduct was always 
" regular, and free from censure. And we may reasonably believe, 
" that after her acquaintance with qu^Saviour, it was edifying and 
" exemplary. I conceive of her as a woman of fine understanding, 
"and known virtue, and discretion, with a dignity of behaviour 
"becoming her age,, her wisdom, and her high station." Epztqii. 



his resurrection, to Mary Magdalene. 219 

pears from the scripture account of her, was a 
woman of respectable character, and of distin- 
guished rank, and a principal supporter of Christ 
in his travels. We are expressly told, however, that 
she had been a demoniac, that is, a lunatic, and 
that she had been healed by the hand of Jesus. 

What was her gratitude we haye seen, so 
fervent, and lively, that it scarcely can, al- 
though in reason it surely ought, to be exceeded 
by theirs, in whom his gospel has healed the 
deadlier maladies of the mind. Abstracted from 
the consideration of the particular obligation 
which she owed to Jesus, Mary's attachment 
to him appears in every view of it, respectable 
and amiable ; let us ask ourselves, would such 
sentiments of love and veneration add less grace 
to our characters ? Would they be less amiable 
and respectable in us ? Let the answer of our 
consciences determine our conduct. 

I would now suggest a few thoughts on the 
causes, and therefore on the reasonableness of 
Mary's joy in the discovery that was made to 
her, that her Lord was risen from the dead. 

1st. The resurrection of Christ was a subject 
of rejoicing to her, because it was the restoration 
of a most respectable and amiable friend, highly 
honoured and affectionately beloved by her. Ia 



£20 €n the appearance of Christy after 

Mary's mind, the light of reason had been ob- 
scured, perhaps nearly extinguished. As he 
went about doing good, Jesus met this unhappy 
maniac. She was a proper subject on whom to 
exert the miraculous power, which, in confirma- 
tion of his mission from on high, he was enabled 
to exercise : he saw, pitied, and healed hen 
Her heart was not ungrateful - y she knew the 
value of the gift of reason ; she was not insensible 
to the deplorable situation of those, in whom it 
is enfeebled or bewildered : she felt her obliga- 
tions to God the gracious author, and to Christ, 
the kind and compassionate instrument of her 
deliverance. 

From the sacred history it appears that she 
had no occupation, and no family to attach her 
to any special residence ; that her years had al- 
ready given her a title to respect, and that her 
circumstances, were not only easy, but even 
affluent. Very naturally therefore, very inno- 
cently, and very laudably, and" without the in- 
fringement or neglect of any social duty, from 
the moment of her recovery she seems to have 
devoted herself to a faithful attendance upon 
him, to whom she owed the resurrection of her 
intellectual and moral life. Thus, as he travelled 



Ms resurrection, to Alary Magdalene. 221 

from city to city, in execution of the high com- 
mission which God had given him, to bear wit- 
ness of the truth, she lost no opportunity of hear- 
ing the lessons which he had enabled her to un- 
derstand, or of administering to his support and 
comfort as his circumstances might require. In 
this frequent intercourse, what an infinite variety 
of events must have been daily multiplying the 
evidences of his divine authority ! what discoveries 
of his transcendent excellence to magnify her 
respect, and to increase her veneration for Jesus ! 
Thus knowing him, and thus obliged to him, 
what must have been the feelings of her heart 
when she heard that he was condemned ; when 
she saw him crucified ; when she attended his 
entombment; when she came to embalm his 
body, and found it removed, whither, and by 
whom, she knew not ? 

Have you ever seen the wise, the good, the 
friendly, those to whose counsels and beneficence 
you had owed substantial and numerous obliga- 
tions 5 to whom you had long been united in the 
bonds of sincere, affectionate, and respectful 
friendship ; have you ever seen them, have you 
ever bid adieu to them, as you saw them lying 
on the very margin of the grave ?— When you 



222 On the appearance of Christ, after 

had given them your last kind wishes, and your 
last lingering look, have you suddenly been called 
back, to receive them as it were, alive from the 
dead ? What your hearts, at that moment, con- 
cieved and dictated, may help you to form some 
faint ideas of the pious joy that agitated the 
heart of Mary ? yet, though from the grave it- 
self, you had literally received such a friend, 
unless your obligations had been equal to her 
obligations, and vour friend eaual unto her 
friend, your sentiments, however alike in kind, 
could not, in degree, have been equal unto hers. 

2d. The resurection of Christ was a subject of 
rejoicing unto Mary, inasmuch as it was to her, 
and not to her only, but to the whole world, 
the restoration of a wise, a kind, and faithful 
instructor. 

Mary knew how to value such a blessing. The 
times in which she lived, rendered such a bless- 
ing particularly valuable. The Scribes, "taught 
not with authority " the Pharises " said, and did 
not they bound heavy burdens on their dis- 
ciples 5 their characters, corresponded not with 
their requisitions. They knew little of the reli- 
gion of reason 5 they understood not their own 
scriptures ; they inculcated " for divine com- 



Ms resurrection, to Mary Magdalene. 22% 

iriandments, the traditions of men." In the les- 
sons of such teachers Mary must often have re- 
gretted the want of light and energy ; and how 
happy must she have thought herself, how ar- 
dently must she have rejoiced, for the sake of 
others, as well as on her own account, that in 
Jesus she had found a religious teacher, concern- 
ing whom it was strictly true, what the officers 
of the chief priests had affirmed, that never "man 
spake like this man." — To see this light of the 
world put out ; the improvement which her own 
character and comfort might have derived from his 
services, for ever at an end ; all the hopes which 
from his ministry she had formed in behalf of 
truth and virtue, and of every human interest, 
extinct for ever : crucified by the world which 
he loved, which he blest, which he enlightened, 
which he prayed for, which he guided by his ex- 
ample, as well as by his councils ; what hope, 
what interest was buried, in Mary's view for 
ever buried, in the tomb of Jesus ! Break up 
that tomb, set the captive free, give him back 
again unto the world, and how joyful is the re- 
volution 1 The clouds that hung upon the sepul- 
chre of Joseph, were dark indeed and lowering, 
but the darker they were, so much brighter was 



224; On the appearance of Christ, dfiei 4 

the scene which the morning of the third day 
opened, and the livelier the joys' that it enkindled 
within Mary's heart.— That day, by anticipation, 
renewed to her the edification and the comfort, 
which heretofore she had so often experienced, 
in attending on the discourses of her Lord. That 
day gave renewed life to the hopes, which the 
crucifixion of Christ had extinguished, that this 
friend of hers, would also, in respect of all their 
most important interests, be a great and lasting 
benefit to the whole human race. 

What a transport ! how just the ground on 
which it stood ! how reasonable any elevation to 
which it might have risen, that this light of the 
world, the wisest counsellor, the best informed, 
and best authenticated instructer ; the safest, 
most amiable, and most animating Exemplar of 
mankind, having lost his life, unjustly; by the 
hands of wicked men, should have regained it 
speedily by the power of God, and have returned 
(as in Mary's apprehension at the moment assu- 
redly he had returned) to renewed intercourse 
with the world, to bless them probably for a long, 
certainly for an indefinite season, with his preach- 
ing and example. -To a mind which had been 

taught by Jesus the value of a life to come ; to a 



his resurrection, to Mary Magdalene. 225 

heart, which had learnt from him, to take a cor- 
dial interest in the welfare of ail his brethren ; 
what joy to hail his return from the realms where 
death had confined him, to give incontrovertible 
evidence, that death is not the end of man, and 
that the way of duty, is likewise the way to make 
even death a blessing ? 

If our hearts are impressed as they ought to be, 
we shall sympathize with Mary's joy on this oc- 
casion ; and although we know, what she did not 
at first know, that the resurrection of Christ from 
the dead was not designed to prolong his resi- 
dence in this world, yet shall we rejoice and give 
thanks, that his renewed life, though for no Ions; 
continuance on earth, was the means of qualify- 
ing his disciples for the ministry to which they 
were appointed, and, (considering the conse- 
quences of that qualification) the means also of 
protracting the benefits of his ministry to this, 
and through this, to the latest generations.— If 
then, in Mary's friendship we see any thing re- 
spectable and amiable y and, however dark the 
intervening scenes, any thing in its final issue, 
desirable and happy, let us take care that our 
friendships be only with the wise and good. 

Again, if in the interest which Mary took in 

Q 



%26 On the appearance of Christ, after 

the information and good conduct of mankind, 
there appears to be any thing respectable and 
amiable, we must of course believe that herein 
she was not unworthy of our imitation. It is easy 
to rejoice in the good instructions that are given 
to the world, and in the good examples that are 
set before it ; but this will not discharge our 
duty : So far as God hath qualified us for it, 
such instructions must be given in our own per- 
sons to those who want and will receive them, 
and such examples must be exhibited to all men, 
in our own temper, and in our own lives. 

PRAYER. 

Happy are our eyes for they see, and happy 
are our ears for they hear, what Kings and Pro- 
phets desired to see yet saw not, and to hear, 
yet did not hear them ! We rejoice in God that 
he who at sundry times and in divers manners, 
spake unto the Fathers in times past by the Pro- 
phets, hath spoken unto us in latter days by his 
Son, whom he hath made heir of all things, 
and placed at the right hand of the Majesty on 
high. If the word spoken by Angels was stead- 
fast, and every transgression and disobedience 
received a just recompense of reward, how shall 



his resurrection, to Mary Magdalene, 227 

we escape if we neglect so great salvation, which 
at first began to be spoken by the Lord, and was 
confirmed unto us by them that heard him, God 
also bearing them witness with signs, and won- 
ders, and divers miracles, and gifts of the holy 
Ghost. 

O righteous Father, let it not be our con- 
demnation that light is come into the world, but 
that we have loved darkness rather than light 
because our deeds are evil. May our faith be 
a lively operative principle, purifying our hearts, 
working by love, and enabling us so to overcome 
this present world* that finally we may be pre- 
sented faultless before the presence of thy glory 
with exceeding joy ! 

To the only wise God our Saviour, be glory 
and majesty, dominion and power, both now and 
ever. Amen. 



a % 



( 228 ) 



DISCOURSE XV. 

ON THE APPEARANCE OF CHRIST, AFTER HIS 
RESURRECTION, TO MARY MAGDALENE, 

PART ir. 
John xx= 11 17. 

BUT MARY STOOD WITHOUT AT THE SEPULCHRE WEEPING, 

In the progress of our Discourse concerning the 
causes of joy in the resurrection of our Lord, that 
might naturally present themselves to the mind 
of Mary, we come now to observe in 

The third place, That the resurrection of Christ 
was not only the restoration of a most respectable 
and amiable friend, highly honoured and affec- 
tionately beloved by her ; the restoration also of a 
wise, a kind, and faithful instructor, but the dis- 
covery of this resurrection was itself a favour to 1 
Mary, and accompanied with such circumstances 
as were extremely friendly, and very honourable 
to her. 



. On the appearance of Christ, SsC* 229 

To a mourner such as Mary, it had been a great 
privilege, if, from some just conceptions of what 
her Lord had taught, if from any thing contained 
in the Jewish Scriptures or conveyed to her 
through credible tradition, or deduced from the 
observations, sentiments, and reasonings of her 
own mind, she had been enabled to establish her- 
self in the firm persuasion that a friend whom she 
so highly respected, and to whom she was so 
much obliged, having finished his course of duty, 
had obtained his recompense of reward. It 
would have been a great privilege, if by any 
means, Providence had enabled her to think so 
well of the condition after death, of those who 
were gone before her, as to anticipate the reno- 
vation of her virtuous friendships with her virtu- 
ous predecessors, when her own course should 
have been run. This conviction had been an un- 
speakable blessing, and to have arrived at it must 
have filled her heart with joy and gladness. 
But, to have seen her risen Lord, to have con- 
versed with him, if but for a few days, for a few 
hours, for a few moments; to have heard the 
voice of Jesus, when he had triumphed over 
death, though it had been in the tone of gentle 
reproof, accompanied by the same air of counte- 

Q3 



230 On the appearance of Christ, after 

nance with which he said to Thomas, " be not 
faithless but believing though Mary had heard 
nothing from her Lord but the language of re- 
buke, that she had been seeking for the living 
among the dead, that she had not believed his 
repeated predictions concerning his resurrection, 
or had not understood what the rising from the 
dead should mean ; yet, as in the case of Thomas, 
even such language of rebuke must have wrought 
conviction, that conviction alone would have en- 
kindled gratitude and joy. But what greater 
gratitude, what livelier joy, what a variety and 
multitude of pleasurable sentiments, that gentle 
air, that kind and penetrating tone of former 
friendship, which, while it showed that he was 
himself alive again, showed that his friendship 
also was living still ; and instantly called up in 
Mary's mind the meekness and wisdom, as well 
as the authority with which he taught; the 
energy, as w r ell as kindness of his beneficence, 
and the obligations that she owed to hira as her 
instructer and deliverer. 

At the sight of that well known countenance, 
at the sound of that well known voice, what a 
multitude of pleasing recollections must have 
mshed into her mind!—' His looks upon the 



his resurrection^ io Mary jlagdakne. 251 

€ cross, how full of pain and anguish ; in Joseph's 
e tomb, how pale and ghastly; now, what life, 
6 what ease, what sweetness, what dignity is there 
c in them !— *How piercing were the accents in 

* which he cried " my God, my God, why hast 

* thou forsaken me i"— Now, how soothing, how 
e cheerful, how reviving is his voice ? How much 

* like himself is this Son of God ! — Immortal now, 
■ yet still meek, and lowly, kind, and condescend- 
c ing, as he ever was ! — It is his own air 3 and 
? manner, anf expression it is that heavenly 
6 teacher, whose wisdom and whose character I 
' have so much admired and reverenced \ and on 
! whose counsels and instructions I have so often 
' hung with unspeakable satisfaction and delight i 
c It is that amiable friend, I know him well, I re- 
c member the transporting moment, the gracious 
4 countenance, and the powerful voice, when he 
' composed my distracted mind, and restored me 
c to myself.' 

It is very natural that ideas, such as these 3 
should crowd into the mind of Mary, to confirm 
her faith, and to elevate her joy ; not clothed in- 
deed in words, as in order to exhibit them to you 
it was now necessary they should be exhibited^ 
perhaps^ not even formed into orderly and distinct 



233 On the appearance of Christ, after 

conceptions \ but, whatever pleasing sentiments 
were connected in her heart with the appearance 
and the voice of Jesus, they would instantly, at 
the same moment, as by the touch of lightning, 
be rekindled there} and, if one can at all enter 
into her feelings, or conceive the effect of the 
situation upon her mind, they must have been 
sentiments, which, if the time would have ad- 
mitted, and the agitation of her mind allowed, 
would have vented themselves in some such lan- 
guage as that in which they have been now re- 
presented. 

The sentiments, however, that have been here 
ascribed to Mary, should not be considered 
merely as matter of conjecture, for, if the history 
be attended to, we must be inclined to believe, 
that in fact she was thus affected, and that such 
affections and such feelings were at this time 
really existing in her mind. Her reply to Jesus, 
discovering himself to her, was Rabboni, which, 
§ays the Evangelist, is to say, Master. Our ver- 
sion has not given precisely and unambiguously 
the import of the Evangelist's interpretation ; for 
the term he uses, signifies Teacher; and those 
who are versed in such literature well know, 
that the term itself, together with that by which 



his resurrection, to Man/ Magdalene. 233 

the Evangelist explains it, strictly and literally sig- 
nifies, My great Instructor, She does not signify 
her recognition of Jesus, as in ordinary circum- 
stances would have been most natural, by the sim- 
ple enunciation of his name she does not merely 
cry out, My Lord ; that appellation, though ex- 
pressive of respect, and of some relation that she 
bore to him, was too vague and general a term to 
suit the vigour of her impressions; too feeble and 
inadequate to satisfy the fulness of her mind. 
It was in his office of a Divine Instructor, that 
she had been used to attend upon and contem- 
plate him ; it was in this relation that she found 
those features that had continually cherished and 
improved her esteem, and which had justified 
and confirmed her attachment. This, therefore, 
was the compellation which her mind instantly 
suggested — c Great Teacher,' was her language, 
£ with whom no other teacher, however eminent 
' and excellent, ought ever to be compared.' The 
very terms then in which she recognized Jesus, in 
my apprehension, makes itperfectly clear, that, on 
the moment of his discovering himself to her, a 
multitude of pleasing recollections, like those we 
have endeavoured to describe, did actually rush 

1 



234 On the appearance of Christ, after 

into her mind, not merely to confirm the con 
Fiction of her senses, but to fill her mind with 
" all peace, and joy in believing." 

Again, the kindness of this discovery to Mary, 
did not alone consist in the irresistible evidence 
which it afforded of her Master's resurrection ; 
for, the moment that her mind recovered from 
its first agitation, and was at leisure to reflect 
upon the steps by which she had arrived at com- 
plete conviction, her gratitude and joy must have 
received new accessions from the tender caution 
with which so transporting a discovery was made 
to her that it was not sudden, abrupt, and hasty, 
but, as far as was needful, progressive, . gradual^ 
and with preparation. 

When, from the Sepulchre, where she had been 
weeping, Mary turned herself from the Angel ; 
Jesus showed himself to her ? but so circumstanced, 
that she should not recollect him. Considering 
the nature of Mary's error, who took the person 
by whom she was addressed, for the gardener, 
and comparing this first address with the manner 
in which Jesus always addressed his mother, and 
with that subsequent address, in which he per- 
fectly discovered himself, it may seem, perhaps, 
fhat he was concealed from her, as by other cir- 



his resurrection, to Mary Magdalene. 2%S 

cumstances, so, in part at least, by something un- 
usually distant and respectful in the manner of his 
accosting her. " Woman," said he, " why 
weepest thou ?" These words, though they did 
not discover the speaker, prepared for the dis- 
covery. Mary, believing him to be the gardener, 
and suspecting that he had taken away the body 
from the Sepulchre, would naturally fix her eyes 
upon his countenance, and whilst she attentively 
looked at him, must she not have traced there the 
features of her Lord ? Despairing indeed as her 
state of mind then was, and still incredulous 
about his resurrection, it would not be the idea 
of identity or sameness, but of similitude only, 
that would first strike her, When, from per- 
ceiving in the person, to whom she was speaking 9 
some resemblance of her Lord, she was beginning 
to suspect that it might be himself ; Jesus kindly 
converted that suspicion into certainty, and spake 
to her in a manner that left no doubt upon her 
mind, that it was indeed her Deliverer, her 
Instructor, and her Friend. The instant transi- 
tion from a state of mind, totally occupied and 
deeply impressed with the idea that her Lord 
was irrecoverably dead, to a state of indubitable 
persuasion that he was certainly alive aga*m a 



236 On (he appearance of Christ, after 

might have been a change too great to have been 
supported. The abrupt and instantaneous dis- 
covery of himself, might have overpowered a very 
tender heart, and a very feeble frame. In Mary's 
case, the agitation occasioned by so violent an im- 
pression, might have renewed the derangement 
of her ideas, and brought back a total alienation 
of mind. To Mary then, how striking and en- 
gaging must this tenderness have been, and when 
once she had become capable of reflecting upon 
it, what an improvement of her joy in the convic- 
tion, that her Lord was risen from the dead ! 

But this is not all ; The discovery was not only 
thus kind to Mary, kind in itself, in its nature, in its 
manner, and in its circumstances — in other respects 
also it was singularly kind, and highly honourable. 
Mary and her associates forsook not their dying 
Lord. They staid by the cross, till the tragedy 
was over. They were the last to leave the Se- 
pulchre at his entombment, they were the first to 
revisit it when the sabbath was ended , and " when 
therefore Jesus was risen," says St. Mark, " he 
appeared first to Mary Magdalene." The firm- 
ness of her faith, the boldness of her avowal of it, 
the steadiness of her attachment, the zeal of her af- 
fection, the importance and disinterestedness of her 



his resurrection y to Mary Magdalene. 237 

services, all of them the result of that power which 
had been exerted to restore her from the most 
deplorable condition of insanity, and her grati- 
tude for this kind exertion of that power, me- 
rited, as it seems, this honourable distinction. 
Could Mary perceive that she was thus distin- 
guished, and not rejoice in it? could Mary re- 
ceive from Jesus the message which he sent by 
her to his Apostles, and not know that none of 
them had yet seen him alive after his passion ? 

To whom is it that we first communicate 
our good tidings of great joy ? is it not to those 
whom we respect and love ? In making the first 
discovery of himself to Mary, what a testimony 
did Jesus bear to Mary's merit, and to his own 
sense of it? I would ask again, to whom is it that 
we first communicate good tidings,, is it not to 
those of whom we are persuaded, that they love 
and respect us ? is it not to those who will turn 
the joyful tidings w r e communicate, to the best 
ascount for all who have any interest in them? 
What a testimony did Jesus herein bear to the 
benignity and liberality of Mary's sentiments, and 
to her delight in every good word and work ! 
Who, and what are they, whom we employ ia 
kind and honourable errands^ but those of whom 



£33 On the appearance of Christ, after 

we are persuaded that they will execute them with- 
out envy, and will not themselves be envied, for the 
distinction that has been conferred upon them 
by those to whom they are sent ? 

How honourable then was the commission with 
which she was entrusted, to Mary's candour, and 
to Mary's sympathy, as well as to the candour 
and sympathy of the Apostles ? how honourable 
is this testimony on the one hand to the equity 
of their sentiments, and on the other, to the 
respectability of her character and her title to 
the estimation in which they held her ? 

When Isaiah, foretelling the deliverance of the 
Jews from the Babylonish captivity, describes the 
watchmen, discovering from their watch-towers 
afar off upon the mountains, the messenger that 
was bringing from Assyria the glad tidings of sal- 
vation, he represents the watchmen as admiring 
and almost envying the messenger, and the mes- 
senger, as exulting in the errand upon which he 
comes. 

How beautiful, say they, upon ihe mountains, 
Are the feet of that joyful messenger, of him that announceth peace, 
Of that joyful messenger of good tidings, of him that announceth salvation, 
And that sayeth unto Sion, thy God reigneth ! 

You feel, I am persuaded, how natural are the 
sentiments of the watchmen and the messenger* 



his resurrection, to Mary Magdalene, 239 

bow closely connected with, and how per- 
fectly suitable to their situation. Had you 
descried a messenger bringing the good tidings 
of the deliverance of your captive country- 
men, you would have admired and rejoiced in 
his alacrity ; and if yourselves had been entrusted 
with the message, the like exultation and alacrity 
would have distinguished you. But what had 
that messenger to announce that can be com- 
pared with the joyful tidings that Mary had to 
reveal ? Is the restoration of the remains of a cap- 
tive nation, to be compared with the pledge of 
human immortality ? Is the deliverance of one 
people out of the hands of their enemies, to be 
compared with the demonstration of all men's 
triumph over death ? Of which good news would 
you rather have been the messenger ? In which of 
these felicities would you have preferred to take 
your share ? 

To convey to friends the joyful tidings of the 
resurrection of a common friend, what heart 
would not spring forward to so delightful, so 
acceptable a service ? — To carry such tidings to 
disappointed, disconsolate, and despairing friends, 
what zeal and alacrity must not this have added 
to the embassy ? : — But, if the message involved in 



240 On the appearance of Christ, after 

it also, glad tidings of great joy to all people, 
what tongue can express the exultation to which 
it must have given rise ?•— To a generous mind 
the errand must have been as delightful, as it 
was important ; and the employment, in itself 
a subject of the purest joy, must have formed a 
great and unspeakable obligation to the Em- 
ployer.— It was a testimony of respect, it was 
an act of kindness, it was an occasion given to 
excite, to exercise, and to improve, both in her- 
self and others, the sweetest and most ennobling 
affections of the human heart. What a subject 
this, of thankfulness and joy ! great enough, as 
it seems to me, to have been felt sensibly, even 
amidst all those other lively sentiments, that the 
conviction of her Master's resurrection must have 
enkindled in her heart. 

But this is not all the grace and honour which 
this discovery of himself, and the circumstances of 
this discovery to Mary, comprehends in it $ for it 
remains still to be added, that these favours and 
these honours were conferred upon her, in the 
presence of many friends and associates whom she 
esteemed and loved, and by whom she was re- 
ciprocally respected. 

It appears to be a fact, clearly deducible from 



his resurrection, to M ary M agdalene. 24 i 

an attentive consideration of the various narra- 
tives of the four Evangelists, that when Jesus re- 
vealed himself to her, Mary was not alone. She 
was attended to the sepulchre, in her way thither, 
and from it also, by those honorable women, who, 
in his last journey, as well as formerly, had ac- 
companied our Lord from Gallilee to Jerusalem ; 
who had been present at his crucifixion and his 
burial, and had carefully observed, where, and 
how the body w T as entombed, 

It is probable that there subsisted among these 
pious followers of their Master, many tender ties 
of friendship and attachment. In their daily in-* 
tercourse, many mutual kindnesses must have 
been , perpetually circulating among them, by 
which means they would be formed to the readi- 
' est sympathy with the pains and pleasures of 
each other ; and, in the presence of their Lord 
at least, would have enjoyed much edifying con- 
versation. But, besides all these, and many 
other causes of esteem and affection, they were 
" all one in Christ :" their attachment to their 
common Lord, cemented more closely their at- 
tachment to each other, and the respect he 
showed to all, rendered them all reciprocally 
more respectable* 

R 



242 On the appearance of Christ, after 

To be distinguished by such a personage, in 
the presence of such friends, so affectionately 
beloved, and so amiable; so respectfully esteemed, 
and so respectable y was no trifling distinction, 
no ordinary favour, no common honour : I was 
going to have said, the language of it was, 
5C many daughters have done virtuously, yet thou 
hast excelled them all," but I feel myself some- 
thing checked in that idea, yet not altogether 
precluded from such an interpretation of the 
text, by the consideration, that they were par- 
takers, as well as witnesses, of the favours that 
were conferred on Mary. 

From John it appears indeed, that Mary was 
particularly addressed, but from Matthew it is as 
manifest that the.whole company also were ad- 
dressed by him. In revealing himself to Mary 
therefore, Jesus revealed himself to all who 
were within hearing of the conversation, and in 
the errand that was particularly prescribed to 
her, it was signified to all that they were to 
accompany' her. To have had the favour she re- 
ceived, conferred, though not in the presence of 
those she esteemed and loved, had been just 
matter of rejoicing : to have received distinction 
in their sight, in which they could in no degree 

1 



his resurrection, to Mary Magdalene. 243 

have participated, might, no doubt, have been, 
matter of rejoicing still : but to a heart of gene- 
rous sensibility, this would have been a dimi- 
nished favour. Surely it must have improved her 
joy and gratitude, that, though on this occasion 
distinguished, she was. not greatly nor invidiously 
distinguished, and that the honour done in par- 
ticular to herself, was of very small account in 
•comparison of that by which all her associates 
were equally distinguished. 

To, be singularly distinguished in an honour- 
able society where all deserve distinction, while, 
in one view it is an honour of the highest kind, 
in another, is far less acceptable, far less desir- 
able, and far less joyful, than to stand as near, as 
is consistent with any sort of distinction, on a 
level with those whom we feel to be as worthv 
of our esteem, as we can conceive ourselves to 
be of theirs. To be the principal, and only just 
the principal, on such an occasion, and in such 
an embassy, was a far more acceptable distinction 
than to have engrossed the honour of it wholly, 
or to have stood very high above those who were 
admitted to some participation of the honour. 
How beautifully does this consideration display 
the wisdom, the delicacy, and the benignity of 

R2 



2 44* Oil the appearance of Christ, after 

Jesus ! While at the same time, giving greater 
purity to Mary's exultation, and therefore more 
approveableness to her own feelings, and adding 
also a more perfect sympathy with more perfect 
pleasure in the breasts of her associates and 
friends, what an elevation must it have given to 
her triumphs, what livelier emotions under the 
recent impressions of the scene, and how much 
more heartfelt and more permanent satisfaction 
in her subsequent reflections on them I 

From what has been suggested in this and the 
foregoing Discourse, it is obvious to remark, 

In the first place. That it is not a, formal, 
careless, or cursory perusal of the sacred history, 
that can discover to us all its beauties, or let in 
its just impressions to our hearts. This can be 
attained only by attentive meditation, and reite- 
rated reflection on the scenes and circumstances 
of the events, and on the feelings and language 
of the agents. Without this, many of the beau- 
ties of the sacred story will lie hidden from us, 
and therefore many things that might have con- 
firmed our faith, and through that, our virtue, as 
well as many things that might have exercised 
the good affections of our hearts, will remain un- 
discovered* 



his resurrection, to Mary Magdalene, 245 

2d. To reflect upon Mary's faith may contri- 
bute to confirm and enliven ours. We believe 
that death is not the end of man, and it is well 
that we believe it s it h well for ourselves, and for 
all who live with us $ it is for their comfort, and 
for our comfort ; and though it be greatly for our 
interest, it is nevertheless for the credit of our un- 
derstandings also 3 that we believe it. Reason 
intimates this truth, Christianity asserts it, and in 
Christ, shown alive after his passion^ we have an 
argument from fact, a specimen of human fates. 
As it is for the credit of our understandings, for 
the support of our minds under affliction, and the 
melioration of our character at all times, that we ' 
should receive this joyful doctrine, it is of the 
first importance that our faith in it should never 
decline or waver. It is our prudence therefore, 
and our duty also, often to renew the ground on 
which our faith is supported, and to avail our- 
selves of every fact, and of every consideration^ 
to establish and enliven it. 

Of this nature, if I mistake not, we shall find 
the conviction that was produced in the mind of 
Mary. It was not a conviction that she ex- 
pected j it was not a conviction for which she 
' , . R 3 



246 On the appearance of Christ, after 

had prepared herself ; it was not a conviction for 
which the previous circumstances had disposed 
her mind - s her prejudices were all on the other 
side ; her feelings were the most unfavourable, 
and the very entrance of any such idea into her 
mind was powerfully precluded. She had been 
seeking for the body in the sepulchre, she was 
perplexed that it was not to be found there; she 
had prepared wherewith to perform the last sad 
offices of respect to a deceased friend, and she 
conceived that some one had anticipated her in 
these services, or had put it beyond her power to 
perform them, and she was weeping, in all the 
anguish of disappointment. She did not recollect 
Jesus when she saw him 5 she did not recollect 
him, even when he spoke to her : how powerful 
then must have been the impression, how irresist- 
ible the evidence, to overcome ail this indisposi- 
tion to receive it - 9 to convert such darkness into 
light 5 such incredulity, into firm and lively 
faith ; and such despondent melancholy, into 
joy and triumph ? 

How firm is the testimony of such a witness ? 
With how much comfort and satisfaction may 
we rely upon it ! In her conviction surely, there 



his resurrection, to Mary Magdalene. 241 

is power enough to compose any doubts of ours, 
and to engage us to rejoice in her report, as " a 
faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation/ 9 

PRAYER, 

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord. 
Jesus Christ, who of his abundant mercy by the 
resurrection of his Son from the dead, hath be- 
gotten us again unto a lively hope of an inherit- 
ance incorruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth not 
away, reserved in Heaven for us ! 

Enable us, O merciful Father, so to walk, as he 
also walked. Being risen with Christ, may we 
set our affections not on things below, but on 
things above. While we are in the world, may 
we be the lights of the world ; may we live an 
ornament to the reasonable nature, and a credit to 
that holy name by which we are called. And 
whenever thou shalt see good to remove us from 
the present scene, may it appear to all, by our 
patience and submission, by our tranquillity and 
composure, by our readiness to go hence and to 
be with Christ, that true religion can impart con- 
solation/ above the reach of time, and chance^ 
and death, 



248 On the appearance of Christ, Kc. 

Finally, O God, having approved ourselves 
through all the changes of this world thy faithful 
servants and obedient children, in the next may 
we be received into those blissful mansions, whi- 
ther Christ as our forerunner is already entered ; 
and where all the wise and worthy, of all ages 
and generations, of all nations, tongues, and kin- 
dreds, shall be for ever settled in thine heavenly 
presence ! Amen, 



( 249 ) 



DISCOURSE XVI. 

REFLECTIONS ON THE ' TOMB OF JESUS, AS 
TENDING TO CONFIRM OUR FAITH IN THE 
CHRISTIAN DOCTRINE, 



Matthew xxviii. 6. 
come and see the place where the lord lay- 

To the serious and well instructed Christian, 
the tomb of Jesus is a very interesting and edi- 
fying theme of contemplation ; and if the Infidel 
would attend to the place where Jesus Jay, such 
considerations could not fail to suggest themselves 
even to him, as might create a doubt at least, con- 
cerning the reasonableness of his unbelief. 

The words of the text were spoken by an 
angel who attended the sepulchre of Jesus, to 
the women who came thither early in the morn- 
ing after the sabbath, to complete the embalm- 
ing, which on account of its approach, had been 
left unfinished, The women were amazed to 
find the sepulchre unsealed ; they were pey- 



250 Reflections on the tomb of Jesus* 

plexed when they found not the body \ they 
dreamt not of a resurrection, for as yet they un- 
derstood not the scriptures, which said that Jesus 
must rise from the dead. 

In the following Discourses, we shall not con- 
fine ourselves to those objects merely, to which 
the celestial messenger particularly invited the 
attention of the persons he addressed, but 
taking a wider scope, shall divide the medi- 
tations that present themselves into two different 
classes, comprising under the first, such as have 
a tendency to confirm our faith in the Christian 
doctrine; and under the second, such as have a 
tendency to awaken or enliven those good affec- 
tions that constitute and adorn the Christian 
temper. 

Under the first head let us inquire, what were 
the peculiar circumstances in the place where 
Jesus lay, to confirm our faith in him and in his 
gospel % and here it may be useful to consider. 

Where the sepulchre was situated ; I 

Of what materials it was composed ; 

To whom it belonged ; and 

What was deposited within it. 

Each of these considerations will suggest some 
reactions of powerful efficacy to confirm our 



Reflections on the tomb of Jesus. 251 

faith in Christ, either, by justifying our depend- 
ence upon the writers of his life, and the credit 
that we attach to the history of his resurrection ; 
or, by displaying to us a part of that minute and 
wonderful attention with which the providence 
of God disposed the various circumstances of his 
death, so as* to produce complete conviction^ 
that " the Lord is risen indeed/' and thus 
declared to be " the Son of God, with power/' 

First, If it be asked, Where was the place in 
which the Lord lay? The apostle John gives, 
the following answer. ce In the place where he 
" was crucified there was a garden, and in the 
" garden a new sepulchre, there laid they Jesus 
" therefore, because of the Jews preparation day, 
* ( for the sepulchre was nigh at hand." 

It may seem strange that in a scene of pleasure, 
in a garden, its -owner should have placed a me- 
mento, which is so wont to strike a damp upon 
all human pleasures, and to check our joy amidst 
the most innocent and rational amusements. But, 
inconsistent as this may generally be found with 
the manners of the modern and the western 
world ; unnatural as it may appear, at any time, 
or in any country, to have placed a sepulchre in a 



£52 Reflections on the tomb of Jesus* 

garden, this circumstance is so far from adding 
anything to the incredibility of the marvellous, 
relation in which it stands, that it rather tends to 
render it the more credible ; as it is perfectly 
agreeable to the prevailing customs of the time 
and of the country, concerning which the evan- 
gelical historian speaks. 

The Jews were not allowed to build sepul- 
chres in their cities, lest the living might acci-^ 
dentally contract such pollution from the dead, 
as should disqualify them for the worship of the 
Sanctuary. It was required that their burying 
places should be at least two thousand cubits from 
their cities, and the sepulchre in which Jesus 
lay, was still further distant. And, as they were 
Dot allowed to build their sepulchres in any of 
their towns, so neither in Jerusalem, were they 
even permitted to lay out their gardens. It is an 
old tradition which the Jewish writers have them- 
selves preserved from the time of Christ, and 
even from an earlier period, that in Jerusalem no 
gardens were permitted, except a very few, 
which they specify, and which they tell us had 
remained undisturbed from the days of the ancient 
prophets, viz. the gardens of Roses. The reason. 



Reflections on the tomb of Jesus. 253 

of the prohibition, is not so evident as the fact ; 
whether it proceeded from some superstitious 
prejudice, or from political considerations, does 
not appear - y for it is merely remarked by the 
Jews, as a peculiarity belonging to the holy city. 

Their own historian, who relates the destruc- 
tion of Jerusalem has observed, that Titus, the 
Roman General, found great difficulty, and was 
exposed to extreme danger in his approaches to 
take a view of the city, from the ditches that had 
■ been dug, and the fences that had been raised to 
divide the gardens which occupied a considerable 
space in the territory that lay round it. Since 
then, every Citizen of Jerusalem, if he wished to 
have a garden, must have it without the walls, 
and must also have his burial place at a distance, 
it was convenient, not to say necessary, to have 
them in the same place, In a Jewish garclen 3 
therefore, it was reasonable to expect a sepul- 
chre ; and such was the distance of the cross 
from the walls of the city, that in the neighbour- 
hood of the cross, it was reasonable to expect a 
garden. 

It is an essential character of a true history^ 
that even every incidental circumstance of the 
narration, however repugnant to those of earlier 



254} Reflections on the tomb of Jesus. 

or later times., should be perfectly correspondent 
to the characters, the laws, the maxims, and the 
customs, of those that are the subject of it. And 
wherever this correspondence is invariably main- 
tained,- through the whole of a long and minute 
detail, it is an indication which may most rea- 
sonably be relied upon, that it is the work, if not 
of an eye witness, yet of one who lived very 
near the times and the scenes in which he wrote 
Nothing is more easy than to preserve this cor- 
respondence when the writer's pen is governed 
by recent well known facts, and when he has no 
other intention than to describe the things he 
relates, as they actually took place; and nothing 
is more difficult, when imagination guides the 
pen, and the intention is to procure credit to 
things of its own creating. In the one case, so 
little thought is required, that an honest mind 
cannot easily mistake ; in the other case, so ex- 
tensive a knowledge, so particular and so labo- 
rious an attention is necessary, that even the 
greatest abilities seldom succeed ; in some in- 
stance or other, the attention will fail, and the 
illusion betray itself. Throughout the whole of the 
gospel history however, various as are the scenes, 
the characters, the customs, and the manners, 



Reflections on the tprm of Jesus. 255 

that are either largely and expressly-described, 
or occasionally and obliquely alluded to, not one 
such example can be found ; they always ap- 
pear in exact conformity with the representations 
of other unconnected and approved writers of 
like antiquity 5 and for this reason alone, the 
gospel history is worthy of the most perfect 
credit, for it must have been written --by persons 
well acquainted with the various facts that are 
delineated, and who were conversant among the 
scenes, the customs, and the characters they 
describe. 

The place of the sepulchre wherein our Lord 
was laid, is one of the many instances, which, 
however improbable at first view, upon due 
consideration give great credibility to the history 
in which they occur, and which, taken altoge« 
ther, will preclude from the serious and candid 
mind, every suspicion of its truth. It is a cir- 
cumstance which a writer, who had not written 
upon the spot, and from fact, would hardly 
have conceived ; and which an impostor, who 
had written from imagination only, most cer- 
tainly would not have thought of. Though it 
was not ordinarily allowed to entomb the dead 
within the precints of the holy city, yet, as a pe- 



256 Reflections on the tomb of Jesus. 

culiar honour to the family of David, the Kings 
of that house were buried there. If the Evangelist, 
who was a Jew, and who could not be ignorant 
of this factj had not been relating an actual event, 
but contriving a seducing story,it would have been 
most natural, by some means or other, (of whiof^a 
variety could not have failed to occur to a man 
capable of inventing the other parts of the narra- 
tive) to have lodged the body of this King of 
Israel, the Lord of David, a descendent of that 
Royal House even more illustrious than its founder, 
in the sepulchre of David. This is a burial 
place for the hero of the story which would have 
insinuated itself into the imagination of a deceiver, 
rather than an unfinished sepulchre in a neigh- 
bouring garden. But the fact is, that it was 
nothing but the truth which the Evangelist re- 
corded. He did not draw the circumstances 
from his own invention, nor mould them ac- 
cording to his fancy, he related them simply as 
they actually were. 

As every part of a true story must cohere 
with all the rest, and every following incident 
arise out of those that preceded, so there were 
the most cogent reasons why our Lord should be 
laid where he actually was deposited, rather than 



Reflections on the tomb of Jesus. 

in any other place., for it was < c nigh at hand 
and hence arises another consideration to confirm 
our faith in him, and our attachment to his cause, 
as the cause of heaven. A prediction had been 
uttered by him, in the most public manner, con- 
cerning the time of his continuance under the 
power of death, and this prediction had been ex- 
pressed on different occasions, in different forms. 
At one time our Lord had said that he should be 
put to death, and that on " the third day he should 
rise again;" at another time, that " the Son- of 
Man should be three days in the heart of the 
earth." It is evident that these two prophecies 
could not be made consistent with each other, 
unless he were buried on the same day he. died ; 
this then was absolutely necessary to the fulfil- 
ment of the prophecy. Now according to the 
Jewish computation of time, one day ended, as 
the next began, at six in the evening; but so 
much of the day had elapsed on which our Lord 
was crucified, before he was actually dead, that 
there remained no time to be wasted, Before six 
he must be interred, and four was now approach- 
ing: when he died. Divine Providence was not 
miraculously to interfere with the kind and pious 
sentiments of his friends, who, having conceived 

S 



1 j S Reflections on the tomb of Jesus. 

no hope of his resurrection, could not think of 
burying him without the usual testimonies of 
affection to the dead. That they had not time 
to accomplish all they wished to do, and what 
was customary to be done, is evident from this, 
that Mary Magdalene and the. other Mary, who 
had seen the body wrapped up in spices by 
Joseph and Nicodemus before they laid it in the 
sepulchre, according to the custom of the Jews, 
nevertheless came thither early in the morning of 
the next day but one, with other preparations for 
the embalment. Had there been no repository 
for the dead so near, or had a sepulchre been 
chosen at a greater distance, it is probable that 
the tenderness of his friends for their deceased 
Master, would have defeated the predictions of 
their living Lord : unless embalmed, though m 
an imperfect manner, they would not have bur^d 
him, and if longer time must have been spent in 
his conveyance to* a more distant grave, he could 
not have been lodged there before the day on 
which he died was over. 

But, by what means should they be urged to 
the necessary dispatch, in contradiction to the 
feelings of friends so warmly attached to their 
Master by the deepest and tenderest sentiments 



Reflections on the iamb of Jesus, 259 

of respect and affection ? It was appointed by « 
that God, who is excellent in counsel and 
abundant in means, that his beloved Son should 
expire on the eve of the Jewish Sabbath. The day 
following it had been unlawful either to inter, to 
embalm, or to make any kind of preparation for 
the funeral; by this means, therefore, Dh 
Wisdom made it impossible for them not to do 
what was necessary, in order to verify the predic- 
tion of our Lord. But even this would not have 
been sufficient to ensure its accomplishment, if 
the body must of necessity have been conveyed 
to some considerable distance from the cross. It 
was necessary, therefore, that to an approaching 
Sabbath, there should be added an adjoining 
tomb. 

In the expedition used by his disciples, it is 
clear that they had no intention to provide for 
the verifying of these prophecies ; for, although 
they were more than once repeated, it is ob- 
served in the course of the narration, that the dis- 
ciples understood them not, that they were afraid 
to inquire of their Master, that they compre- 
hended not his predictions, either of his preyious 
sufferings, his death, or the resurrection that 
should follow, It was only when the events actu- 



260 Reflections on the tomh of Jesus. 

ally took place, by which these declarations were 
fulfilled, that they apprehended their true mean- 
ing. So far from expecting a resurrection, they 
did not believe that he would die ; and it is evi- 
dent from the dejection, the despair, and the terror 
into which they w^ere thrown, when he actually 
did expire, that_an event like this, was not " in all 
their thoughts." 

The disciples then, in the haste made by them 
to deposit their Lord in the nearest tomb, had no 
sort of intention, to render the accomplishment of 
his former predictions, possible. They were the 
voluntary, yet unconscious instruments in the 
hands of God, whose secret, yet real and all 
powerful providence, without the least suspicion 
of the Agents employed, had prepared the series 
of events to accomplish the great and important 
ends proposed. It is the Lord's doing, and is 
marvellous in our eyes ! 

In the second place, St, Matthew tells us that 
Joseph of Arimathea laid the body in a new 
tomb which was hewn out in the rock. 

Does this' appear a tedious and expensive me- 
thod of forming a family burial place, and there- 
fore create some hesitation about the fact ? Let 
us remember that it appears from the history of 



Reflections on the tomb of Jesus. 2$| 

the demoniac of Gadara, of whom it is said, c that 
he came out of the tombs, and that he abode in 
the tombs/ that the Jewish sepulchres were such 
as modern travellers have represented them ; 
spacious vaults in the neighbourhood of their cities, 
hewn out of the rocks, in the sides of which they 
cut out the cells where the dead were deposited^ 
and there closed up. Sarah was buried in the 
excavation of a rock at Hebron ; the sepulchres of 
the house of David were of the same nature. In 
Isaiah's days, sepulchres were hewn out on high, 
and these final abodes, especially when intended 
for the rich and the great, were graven for them 
in a rock. The tomb of Lazarus was a cell 
hollowed out, in a natural or artificial cave. Such 
it seems in general, were the sepulchres of the 
Jews, in their own country, from the earliest, 
even to the latest times. 

But though it had not been the custom of the 
Jews, to provide such receptacles for their dead, 
it would still have remained probable that the 
sepulchre in which Jesus lay was of this kind, 
for it was near the spot where he was crucified ; 
and this single circumstance gives a degree of 
probability to what is said concerning it. Though, 
in itself, it had been a thing exceedingly impro- 

S3 



2€2 Reflections on the wmb of Jesus. 

bable, that a family burial place should be hewn 
out of the solid rock, yet it is most natural to be- 
lieve that a family burial place, in such a situa- 
tion 3 must have been of this kind. If it were 
Dear the cross, it was upon a rocky hill, for such 
was Golgatha, where the cross of Jesus was 
erected ; the soil of which had not depth enough 
to receive a subterranean building 3 in the sides 
of which an excavation would easily be made, 
and to the top of which, materials for any other 
kind of sepulchre, could not very easily have been 
conveyed. 

But this is not all the evidence that the kind of 
sepulchre in which Christ was laid, suggests, to 
justify and confirm our faith. There was neces- 
sarily no entrance, no possibility of gaining ad- 
mittance but by the mouth, at which the guard 
of those who had murdered him, were placed. 
No sooner had the report of his resurrection 
spread abroad, than it was answered by another, 
industriously procured, and sedulously propa- 
gated by his enemies, that the resurrection was a 
mere fiction of his friends, who had come by 
night and stolen him away. Had they then dug 
through the solid rock ? The rock was as entire 
as ever, and there was no other passage to be 



Reflections on the tomb of Jesus. 263 

found. V> T as the pretended sleep of the Roman 
soldiers so sound, that the removal of the stone 
did not awake them ? Were the timid disciples 
become so courageous in the interval of a very 
few hours, that the attempt did not appal them ? 
Yet to the avowal of such improbabilities were the 
Priests and Pharisees reduced, by the very nature 
of the sepulchre wherein the body was deposited. 

Again, To whom belonged the sepulchre in 
which Jesus lay ? 
It was Joseph's, a rich and honourable counsellor. 
It was prophecied of the Messiah, that he should 
make his grave with the rich in his death, We 
have seen that bis friends were compelled by the 
hour at which he died, to deposit him in the 
nearest sepulchre 3 and we may observe, that by 
the very same means, provision was made by the 
providence of God, for the fulfilment of this other 
prophecy also. It is probable that he was not 
intended to continue in this grave. It was taken, 
because they were obliged to take it for a tem- 
porary repository; and it is most likely that if the 
sabbath had not approached so very near, he had 
never been deposited there at all ; for it appears 
from some circumstances in the narration, that 
the sepulchre was not only new, but as yet un- 
finished, 

S4 



264 Reflections on the tomb of Jesus. 

Again, it is not observed by St. John without 
design, that in this sepulchre " never man was 

yet laid." If none but Jesus ever went into it, 
none but himself could proceed from it. This 
single circumstance, even although the body had 
undergone some considerable change by the tem- 
porary interruption of life, would sufficiently have 
ascertained the identity of the person, and pre- 
cluded every doubt, whether the man that rose, 
was the very man who was crucified and buried 
there. Had it not been for the circumstance of 
the sepulchre being a new one, the adversaries of 
Christ might have admitted the reality of his 
resurrection, but have denied the consequences 
which the Christians drew from it. — Overlooking 
the predictions of our Lord, or, denying their 
reality, they might have urged ; f Did ever any 
6 man infer concerning him, who revived on being 
e let down into Elijah's sepulchre, that therefore, 
g all he said was true ? — Did any man infer from 
'* thence that he was the Son of God ?' 6 The pre- 
f mises/ such cavillers might have asserted, c did 
c not support any such inference: the fact had 
s been, that some illustrious prophet, like Elijah, 
*had been interred in Joseph's sepulchre, and 
6 that Christ, when he was deposited there, had 



Rejections on the tomb of Jesus. 255 

* Impinged against the relics of that prophet, and 
€ revived/ Such might have been the insinuations 
of the priests and rulers, and such was their in- 
fluence with the people, that their insinuations 
might have gained credit. In a -new sepulchre 
however, where never man had yet been laid, no 
relics of a prophet could possibly be found, This 
circumstance therefore, was by no means insigni- 
ficant, and the mention of it completes the argu- 
ment. 

Christians, you need not fear for the gospel 
that you love, it is of God, and the power of man 
cannot overthrow it. No human artifice or vio- 
lence can effect its extirpation. Even the' gates 
of hell shall not prevail against it. It may be 
injured by the superstition and licentiousness of 
its professors, as much, nay more, than by the ridi- 
cule and virulence of its opposers.— Obstructed 
or oppressed, it may be, but it never can be 
extinguished or overcome, This divine seed 
which our heavenly Father hath planted, is in- 
destructable and immortal : though it may not 
always thrive and grow according to your wishes 
arid your prayers, though the tares with which it 
is intermingled may suppress and threaten to des- 
troy it, you may trust in God that it shall be pre- 



266 Reflections on the tomb of Jesus. 

served for ever. It is written in the decrees of 
heaven, it is promised in the gospel prophecies \ 
the word of God faileth not ; whatever seems to 
be defeating the accomplishment of its pre'dic- 
tions, will eventually be overcome. The years 
are bringing on that glorious period, when th<s 
gospel shall be acknowledged by every tongue, 
and glorified in every life. — Christ was dead, and 
is alive again, and lives for evermore! 

PRAYER. 

O Almighty and most merciful Father, we 
offer unto thee our most devout praise and thanks- 
giving, that thou has vouchsafed unto us of this 
distant day such abundant evidence of the resur- 
rection of thy Son from the dead! We thank 
thee for the numerous attestations that have been 
given to this glorious and consolatory truth. 
Hasten, we humbly beseech thee, the approach of 
that blessed period; when all who partake with 
us in the same common nature, and in the com- 
mon bounties of thy providence, may become 
partakers also, in the invaluable blessings of thy 
Son's gospel. 

Seeing that our blessed Lord is indeed risen 
from the dead, and that if we obey him, because 



Reflections on the tomb of Jesus, . *267 

lie lives, we shall live also, may we mortify our 
affections which are on the earth, and put on that 
spiritual mind, which is life and peace. Enable 
us, O God, uniformly to maintain that superiority 
to all the trifles of this transitory state which be- 
comes those who are called to glory, honour, and 
immortality, who are destined for the associates 
of the noblest spirits in the universe, who hope 
to live for ever where Jesus lives 5 in thine heavenly 
presence. 



( 2CS ) 



DISCOURSE XVII. 

REFLECTIONS ON THE TOMB OF JESUS, TEND- 
ING TO IMPROVE THE CHRISTIAN TEMPER. 

PART II. 

Matthew xxviii. 6. 

<( COME, SEE THE PLACE WHERE THE LORD LAY." 

We purposed to divide our reflections upon the 
Tomb of Jesus into two great classes 5 arrang- 
ing under the first, such as have a tendency to 
enliven and confirm our faith, and under the 
second, such as have a more immediate tendency 
to awaken and improve those good affections, 
that constitute the Christian temper, and adorn 
it. The first of these divisions being already 
finished, we proceed now to the second ; and 
here also we purpose to separate our reflections 
Into two classes - 3 placing in the first, those that 
arise from the consideration that Jesus was de- 
posited in the grave, and in the second, those 



Reflections on the tomb of Jesus. ?.G9 

that arise from the consideration that he did not 
continue to lie there. 

In the first place, to send our thoughts into the 
place where Jesus lay, will help to cool our love 
of life, and our fond attachment to this present 
world. Why do we cling so closely to a scene 
in which we cannot stay ? why do we rejoice so 
ardently in a flower which the noon-day sun may 
wither, which the evening blast will certainly 
destroy ? . Why do we expect so much from a 
vapour, which appeareth for a little time, and 
then vanisheth away ? Why are we so warm in 
our affections towards a state, w 7 here our sw T eetest 
draughts are not unmixed with the gall of bitter- 
ness ; out of which, when our hopes and joys are 
most lively, we may suddenly be remanded ; and 
in which, although this night were fixed for our 
departure, we may suffer, what would make that 
little interval appear long ? 

How short was the interval between the pas- 
sover celebrated by Jesus in such sweet com- 
munion with his friends, and that grave, which 
they bedewed with their tears ? His hours were 
not many, but we cannot say so of his pains ! 
What bodily anguish, what mental sorrow, did 
he not, in that short time, experience ?— You 



170 Reflections on the tomb of Jesus, 

know the story of Gethsernane ; you remember 
that treacherous disciple ; you are no strangers 
to the malice of the Jewish Council ; to the 
mockery of Herod's Soldiers, or to the injustice 
of Pilate's sentence. — You well know, that 
neither the insults of the heathen soldiery, nor 
the tortures inflicted by the cruel scourge, could 
appease the fury of his countrymen; Jesus looked 
on them, and Pilate spake to them, in vain. 
What did he feel when they cursed themselves 
that they might gratify their malice with his 
death ? Crucify him, Crucify him, was the dread- 
ful cry"; let his blood be on us and on our chil* 
dren ! When that shout ascended to heaven from 
thousands of his countrymen, how, think ye, did 
Jesus look ? what, think ye, did he feel ? — If the 
spear had entered his heart whilst life yet re- 
mained, it had not inflicted so sharp a wound ! 

You know what crucifixion means — you can 
never forget the tragedy of Golgotha. Insulted 
by his cruel murderers, forsaken by his affrighted 
followers ; one friend unable to sustain the 
mournful spectacle,. yet unable to turn away from 
it, standing by his mother, crucified herself in the 
crucifixion of her Son ! These were the sights 
he saw when lifted up upon the cross, and these 



Eeflections on the tomb of Jesus* 271 

the agonies in which he died. These were the 
steps by which the Son of God went down into 
the chambers of death ; through this series of 
sorrow, he entered into Joseph's tomb. — Into 
the grave, you too must enter, for it is the house 
appointed for all the living ; and though you 
descend not there through the violence of wicked 
men, you must probably descend through the 
violence of keen diseases, and the tears of tender 
friends. No innocence of character, no useful- 
ness of life, can redeem you from the grave, 
nor delay your arrival there, nor procure you 
warning of your death, nor defend you from 
affliction till it comes. We may trust our virtue 
to ensure to us the friendship of God, but, so long 
as there are evil passions in the world, the tomb 
of Jesus will admonish us, that we cannot trust 
it to preserve us from the enmity of men. We 
may trust our virtue to make all things work to- 
gether for our good, but we cannot trust it to 
preserve us from any thing, which, for the present, 
we must call evil. There are no means by which 
we can certainly attain the happiness of this 
world, and when we have obtained it, there are 
no means by which we can be assured that it 
will continue long. 



212 Bejleciions on the tomb of Jesus. 

Since then we cannot stay in this world, or* 
if we could stay, have no power to make its 
comforts permanent, or even of assuring ourselves 
that our condition in it shall be easy ; since we 
live with the scythe of death continually sus- 
pended over us, and that €£ time and chance hap- 
pened unto all," how absurd is it to be extrava- 
gantly fond of this life, how prudent, to be con- 
tinually aspiring to a better? — In .the world to 
come there are no faithless friends, nor dangerous 
enemies, nor false accusers, nor unrighteous 
judges ; in the world to come, there are no suf- 
fering relatives, no treacherous pleasures, no 
painful discipline nor unwelcome changes. In 
that world there are no weeping eyes, no swelling 
hearts, no dying agonies : in that world there is 
nothing to create either apprehension or regret, 
for there, virtue is not tried, but crowned. 

Whatever comforts you may meet with in the 
way thither, receive them thankfully, and enjoy 
them cheerfully ; it becomes, it behoves you so 
to do.~But beware, my friends, that they do not 
seduce you from your duty.— Beware, that for 
their sakes, you do not make yourselves un- 
worthy of eternal life,— Remember, Christians^ 



Reflections on the tomb of Jesus. 273 

that your citizenship is in heaven; you are strangers 
and pilgrims upon earth, and this world has no 
value to be compared with that which it derives 
from the advantages it supplies, to fit yourselves 
for a better. 

Second, If we send our thoughts into the tomb 
where Jesus lay, they can hardly return from 
thence, without bringing something to reconcile 
us to the troubles of this present life. That tomb, 
suggests enough to moderate our expectations from 
the present world, and our' attachment to it, 
without either depressing or disturbing our 
minds ; without either exciting our anxieties 
about its future scenes, or rendering us impatient 
under the present. Above the world we ought 
to be, yet not discontented with it ; ready for the 
glorious change we expect ; rejoicing in hope of 
so blessed a translation, yet, all the days of our 
appointed time, in patient waiting, until: our 
change come. If it be a good reason why Our 
delights should not rise too high, that flowery as 
the path may be, the road will soon turn down 
into the vale of death, it surely is as good an ar- 
gument why we should not be disturbed by the 
rugged and thorny passages of life, that at last, 

T 



274 Reflections on the tomb of Jesus. 

when we are quite weary, we shall lie down and 
take our rest. 

In Joseph's tomb, how sweet is the sleep of 
Jesus ! There is nothing in that peaceful retreat 
to trouble him. His pains were acute, but they 
overpowered him at last— he was weary of his 
sufferings, and now he is at rest. Now, there is 
no anguish in his countenance, and there never 
will be more. How placid is that slumber ! He 
feels no more the cruel scourge; he has forgotten 
the accursed tree. Ye priests and rulers, ye can- 
not wake him to renew your persecutions. Ter- 
ror has no more horrid spectacles to set before 
him. Pain has no more darts to throw, and 
death's last blow is struck. Peter, he thinks no 
more of your denial; even the infidelity of Judas 
disturbs him not. This peaceful sleep is not for 
a moment interrupted by the remembrance, either 
of insulting enemies, or forsaking friends. 

John may come hither now to weep over his 
friend, without afflicting him; and here Mary, you 
may sit down, and lean over that beloved Son, 
and pour out all your griefs into his bosom, for it 
cannot hurt him now. What is it to him that 
his body was so cruelly torn and mangled ? what 



Reflections on the tomb of Jesus. 275 

is it to him that by cruel hands he was crucified 
and slain ? — No more will it be to thee my Soul, 
when a few short days are over, that thou art 
grievously afflicted now, or that still severer 
troubles are awaiting thee ! 

When a wicked world distresses thee, remember 
Christian that thou shalt presently retire, where the 
wicked cease from troubling. When the cares of 
life press heavy on thee, look forward to that calm 
retreat where all anxieties are composed. When 
adversity approaches thee, maintain thy courage 
Christian ; tell her, that there is, at no great dis- 
tance, an asylum where she cannot come. When 
the pains of death lay hold on thee, remember 
that thy grave will be easier than thy bed: 'a 
dying Christian may find comfort in the thought, 
that they cannot last long. His slumbers in that 
land of silence will be as calm and easy as his 
Master's were ; and, in the mean time, whatever 
sufferings may await him, he has this best of 
consolations, that they are not the tokens of God's 
displeasure not the ministers of a vindictive 
judge, to announce to him the approach of more 
tremendous sufferings, but the discipline of a 
tender parent, to work out for him " a far more 
* exceeding and eternal weight of glory." 

T2 



216 Reflections on the tomb of Jesus. 

If indeed, the calamities of life were the evi- 
dences of God's rejection, who could abide his 
visitations r Jesus was never dearer to him than 
when he cried, " my God, my God, why hast 
6f thou forsaken me r" — He never had more con- 
fidence in the friendship of God than when in his 
sst words, amidst all the reproach and agonies 
of the cross, he said, ec Father, into thy hands 
" I commend my spirit !" 

Christians, you may retain your confidence in 
God, even when he may appear to have forsaken 
you, even when your good conscience is the only 
comfort that remains ; when ail your circum- 
stances are full of trouble, and all your sensations 
full of pain, you may still call him your God : he 
will answer to that faithful compellation, he will 
not leave vou without the strength vou need, or 
withhold from you the recompense for which 
you Ion?. 

Third, Whilst we turn our thoughts upon the 
place where Jesus lay, it is hardly possible that 
we should forget the fickleness of human favour. 
It may be lost without any fault of ours, and 
cannot be retained with certainty by our most as- 
siduous endeavours to deserve it. It was the fury 
of the multitude that brought Jesus to his grave. 



Reflections on the tomb cf Jesus. 277 

Only five days before, that very multitude brought 
him in triumph to the temple — hosannah to the 
Son of David ; blessed is he that cometh in the 
name of the Lord : — -now what a change I Away 
with this Man, crucify him, crucify him! Release 
to us Barrabas ! What had Jesus done, that a 
murderer should be preferred before him ? Jesus 
was, what he ever had been ; holy, harmless^ 
and undefiled — how iniquitous would it have 
been, from his disgrace, to have inferred his guilt. 
Let us then not judge of characters by so pre- 
carious and dangerous a rule as the esteem which 
they either may possess or have possessed in the 
world. Let us contemn the littleness of courting 
popular applause. 

How light a soul is that, which can be lifted 
up by the breath of man ! Yvho would be so 
credulous as to lean upon the wind ? or so weak 
as to grieve, because it may chance to blow 
against him ? Let us do our duty whatever be 
the event ; and trust the master whom we serve, 
with our credit and esteem. From the praise of 
men, let us appeal to the praise of him who made 
them y his favour is our life, and although we 
should lose our life in seeking and maintaining 
his favour, it is not folly, it is not rashness, for 

fus loving kindness is even better than life. 

T3 



278 Reflections gu the tomb of Jesus. 

God cannot die nor change ; but you cannot 
affirm this of your earthly friends. You cannot affirm 
that there is any certain method either of obtain- 
ing human friendship or of preserving it. To be 
good, and to do good is the most promising expe- 
dient, and yet even this, is by no means infallible. 
But the friendship of God, we may by this means 
certainly obtain ; and by this means it may be 
infallibly preserved. His friendship will comfort 
us, in the want of all other friendships, it will 
help us in that solemn hour w T hen all other friend- 
ships fail. Moreover, in the mean time, if we 
have the favour of God, he has human favour at 
his disposal, for all hearts are in his hands : he 
will prolong to us our friendships if it be good 
for us to enjoy them ; and if our doings please 
the Lord, he has the pow T er, and when it will 
not injure us, he will have the disposition also, to 
& cause even our enemies, to be at peace with 
H us." 

Fourth., If we think where Jesus lay, if, in- 
tending to be the better for our meditations, and 
not merely to indulge ourselves in vain specula- 
tions, we employ them on the Son of God en- 
tombed in Joseph's sepulchre,, it it very natural 
that by this means our love to God should be 



Reflections an ike tomb of Jesus. 219 

improved. He gave himself according to the 
■will of God, even the Father, that he might take 
us out of this present evil world : that, by the 
influence of his example, carried to the last per- 
fection, and by the power of his doctrine esta- 
blished on the strongest evidence, he might de- 
liver us from the prevailing carelessness, and im- 
pen hence of the world, and engage us " by 
patient continuance in well doings to seek for 
glory, honour, and immortality." God com- 
manded, he obeyed. To his obedience we owe 
a debt which we never can repay. Is there no- 
thing due to the authority that he is so highly 
respected ? It was his obedience to God, in the 
service of our souls, that brought him, through 
the pains of crucifixion, to the grave. For yoii, 
Christ gave himself ; you own the value of the 
gift, and celebrate the beneficence of the giver. 
For you, God gave his Son ; in that gift did he 
make no sacrifice ? Was there no evidence of 
divine compassion and benevolence in a gift like 
this ? — I here speak of the great and ever blessed 
Godwin the language and with the sentiments of 
men ; but for this I have his own authority, for 
he has himself reasoned, from our feelings, to his 
pwn conduct " Can a woman forget her suck* 

T* 



2S0 Reflections on the tomb of Jesus, 

" ing child that she should not have compassion 
" on the infant of her womb ? Yea they may for- 
" get, yet will not I forget thee Sion. How shall 
i( I give thee up Ephraim ? Israel, how shall I de- 
" liver thee ? How shall I make you as Admah 
<f and as Zeboim ? My heart is turned within me, 
ee and my repentings are kindled together." Did 
God love Ephraim and Israel, whose sins required 
to be chastened, better than he loved the meek 
and the holy Jesus ? 

What then will you render unto God for this 
his unspeakable gift ? Obey the Son of God, 
who for his obedience unto death, is crowned 
with glory and honour ; and fulfilling the condi- 
tions of them, trust ye in the promises 'of God : 
for, "if he spared not his Son, but delivered him 
up for us all, how," saith the Apostle, " shall he 
<€ not with him, also, freely give us all things ?" 

PRAYER. . 

O Lord God Almighty : As we call our* 
selves the disciples of thy beloved Son, may we 
verify our holy profession by our growing confor- 
mity to his example 1 Like him may it be our 
meat and drink to do thy wijl^ and grant, that by 



Reflections on the tomb of Jesus. 281 

meditating on the tomb of Jesus, the world may 
be crucified to us, and we unto the world. 

The friendship of man, is as the morning cloud* 
or as the evening dew that soon passeth away — 
Raise us, we beseech thee, into such superiority 
to that censure or applause of men, which would 
deter or seduce us from the path of duty, that 
no temptation which the world can offer, may 
ever shake our constancy in thy service, or at all 
abate our love to thee ! Looking unto Jesus the 
leader and finisher of the faith, who for the joy 
that was set before him endured the cross, 
despising the shame, and is sat down at the right- 
hand of the throne of God, may we not be weary 
nor faint in our minds, but may we run with pa- 
tience and alacrity the race that is set before us ! 



( 232 ) 



DISCOURSE xvur. 

REFLECTIONS ON THE TOMB OF JESUS, TEND* 
2LNG TO IMPROVE THE CHRISTIAN TEMPER.* 

PART IIL 
Matthew xxviii. 6. 

COME, SEE THE PLACE WHERE THE LORD LAY. 

When we send our thoughts into the tomb cc 
Jesus, and there image to ourselves, that light of 
the world .extinguished, that friend of man, that 
servant of the most high God, whose joy it was, 
from morning until night to be doing good, cut 
off from all usefulness, and cruelly disabled from 
pursuing it, what heart is not fired with indig- 
nation against those wicked hands by whom he 
was crucified and slain ? What ! nail him to the 
cross, who bare your burdens, who pitied your 
infirmities, who taught you the most important 
knowledge, who conversed among you with the 
most engaging sweetness, who fed you in the 
wilderness, who healed your sicknesses, and who 



Reflections on the tomb of Jesus. 283 

raised your dead? Unfeeling multitude, who 
could urge with so much clamour, a demand, at 
once so ungrateful, so cruel, and unjust ! Ye 
Priests and Rulers, is this the spirit of your re- 
ligion and your laws ? Do they give encourage- 
ment unto evil doers, and afford no sanctuary 
unto those who do well ? — Do they connive at 
the spirit of licentiousness and cruelty, and afford 
not so much as a toleration, unto truth and vir- 
tue ?— Pilate, if you had obeyed the dictates of 
your conscience, though you might not have 
saved your prisoner, and must, perhaps, have 
lost your life, you would not have lost your peace ! 
But your crime is light, in comparison of theirs.. 
Over a more tumultuous people, a more irreligi- 
ous priesthood, and a more lawless generation, 
you could not have been appointed governor. 

But come, my heart, forgive them, for the 
Lord forgave them ; pity them, for he pitied 
them ! They were men, they were our brethren, 
they were among those to whom, by our Lord's 
express corn fn and, repentance and remission of 
sins were first preached, after he was risen from 
the dead. Some of them, many of them did re- 
pent. They were pricked to the heart when 
Peter spake to them of- their crimes. They re? 



284 Reflections on the tomb of Jesus, 

ceived the doctrine of him, whom they had per* 
secuted unto death ; they became the steadfast 
professors and the zealous preachers of his gospel^ 
and were honoured with the gifts of the holy 
spirit. 

Perhaps, when repentance began to be 
preached at Jerusalem, that very Priest who first 
proposed to lie in wait for Jesus, that very man 
who first stipulated with the traitor Judas for 
his price ; that very witness who deposed against 
him, what was neither criminal nor true ; that 
very ruler, who was foremost to declare him 
worthy of death ; these, perhaps, when repent- 
ance began to be preached at Jerusalem in the 
name of Jesus, were the first to hear, and to re- 
pent. This, however, is most certain, that 
through their hands, some of whom had a dread- 
ful share in this bloody tragedy, we have received 
the gospel. The first subjects of it were converted 
from among the enemies of its author ; and the 
day is coming, when, as we hope, when, as we 
believe, many who invoked his blood upon 
themselves and upon their children, shall stand 
with us at the right hand of the son of man. 

Let us continue steadfast in the faith, that is jus- 
tified by such witnesses 5 let us adore the clc- 



Reflections on the tomb of Jesus. 4&$ 

mency that can pardon such guilt, and turn our 
indignation from the murderers of Jesus, against 
the prejudices that misled, and the vices that cor- 
rupted them. Let us beware of those prejudices 
that would alienate us from the truth 5 and of 
those vices, that would make the truth our 
enemy. 

What was it that deprived so many of the 
Jews of the benefits they might have derived 
from the preaching of our Lord ? What was it 
that deprived him of the honours that were due 
to him as their Messiah, as their promised and 
expected King? He was of Nazareth, an obscure 
and poor town of Gallilee, whence nothing good 
could come - 3 he affected no worldly pomp, and 
he promised no worldly blessings ! — If Jesus had 
employed his power of working miracles, to 
aggrandize his country, and to gratify his fol- 
lowers with wealth and power, they would have 
adored him : Because he promised no such hap- 
piness to his friends 5 because his doctrine re- 
proved, instead of encouraging their worldly ex- 
pectations ; because they had nothing to expect 
from him in this world, they agreed that he 
should not continue in it. Their worldliness, 
caused his death 3 it rendered them insensible to 



286 Reflections on the tomb of Jesus, 

the excellence of her doctrine, unimpressible by 
the virtues of his character, incapable of restraint, 
even by those awful miracles, which amply testi- 
fied, that God was with him. 

The love of this world was the death of 
Jesus ; this was the evil passion that instigated 
the cruel resentment of the priests and rulers* 
that prompted Judas to betray, and that pre- 
vailed on Pilate to desert him. 

Judas loved the world ; he was impatient to 
possess more of its enjoyments ; if his master 
were ever to assume a kingdom, it must be he 
thought, when his life was in the power of his 
enemies ; and if Jesus had no kingdom to assume, 
Judas would at least be a gainer by the price of 
his infidelity. Pilate loved the world ; if he 
could have borne the resentment of the Jews j. 
If he durst have put his honour and his life upon 
the issue of a trial before Caesar, he would 
not have condemned the guiltless. From the love 
of the world arise almost all the mischiefs of 
human life ; the hatred, the jealousy, the ani- 
mosities, the cruelties, the injuries and oppres- 
sions, that, from time to time, disturb the peace 
of families, of neighbourhoods, of societies,- and ; 
of kingdoms. 



Reflections on the tomb of Jesus. 281 

Let not such a passion strike its root into 
your hearts j for you know not of what benefits it 
may deprive, or into what crimes it may betray 
you. It may prevent your reception of the 
truth ; it may render you disobedient to its 
dictates ; it may stir you up to enmity against 
its advocates ; it may cause you to " deny the 
Lord who bought you," to betray the interests of 
truth and virtue, to " crucify unto yourselves the 
Son of God afresh, and to put him unto open 
shame. " 

Christians, consider what you are doing, when 
you make the world, and the things of the worlds 
whether it be its esteem, its pleasures, or its in- 
terest, essential to your peace ! — what you are 
doing when you are indulging keen desires 
after them, or permitting your delight in these 
things, to grow upon your hearts. You are en- 
couraging and strengthening those dangerous 
passions which betrayed the Jews into all the 
guilt of having despised and rejected the most 
important gift of heaven, and, finally, of having 
murdered the holy one of God ! 

When the world is spreading before you its 
allurements, send your thoughts into the place 
where Jesus lay. Tell the world, c You cruci- 



288 Refections on the tomb of Jesus. 

fled my Lord}' ask the world 6 would you destroy 
c my soul ? that I may have more of your vain 
c amusements, of your unsubstantial honours, of 
c your sensual entertainments, your precarious 
s possessions, than virtue can command, or inno- 
e cence will permit, shall I disgrace the christian 

* character ? shall I cause the name of Christ to 
s be blasphemed ? shall I destroy my hopes in that 
c city " which hath foundations, w 7 hose builder 
6 and maker is God r" — I am a Citizen of 
6 Heaven, my treasures, my real treasures, are 
c in that w T orld where my eternity must be spent, 
c and the fashion of which passeth not away ? 

* Avaunt ye seducing vanities ; be at rest ye 
c worldly passions ; I have learnt from him who 

* was slain- by you, to know the enemies that 

war against my soul. I am going whither he 

is gone, as fast as the wings of time can convey 

me ; speedily, I shall have no more concern in 

this world, than my master had while he slept 

in Joseph's tomb. I will keep my eyes upon 

my crucified Lord : — the reproach of Christ, is 

greater treasure than the riches of the world. — » 
fc> 

I have sworn fidelity to Jesus, as the Captain of 
my salvation, and " the life that I now live in 
the flesh, must be by the faith of the Son of 
God.'" 



Reflections on the tomb of Jesus. 289 

When Christians, when will ye believe, that 
to be carnally-minded is death? When will ye 
believe that the honour of the gospel and the 
interests of your own souls are dependent upon the 
spirituality of your hearts, and the purity of your 
minds ? How long will ye continue unashamed 
to call yourselves the friends of Jesus, whilst ye 
remain* the enemies of his cross, " by minding 
" earthly things?'' — There is but one unambiguous 
proof of your friendship to him ; but one unde- 
ceitful principle on which you may expect his 
friendship ; namely, your abhorrence of the vices 
he condemned, and your delight in all the virtues 
that he practised. 

In the fifth place — To turn our meditations to 
our Lord deposited in Joseph's tomb, will na- 
turally increase our esteem and love of him. 
Virtue, is in every circumstance an amiable ob- 
ject, but never more amiable than when in dis- 
tress. When the tear stands trembling in her eye, 
and the groan that distends her heart is withheld 
from breaking forth ; then it is, that she draws 
out all our soul towards her. In her honour and 
prosperity we love her ; in her affliction and dis- 
grace we love her with a tenderer affection. To 
that fortitude which cannot be overcome, to 

U 



290 Reflections on the tomb of Jesus. 

that fidelity which cannot be shaken, we look 
up with reverence and admiration. In the very 
countenance of patience, meekness, and resigna- 
tion, there are the sweetest and most powerful 
attractions. If it be for our sakes that virtue is 
distressed, if she suffer in our cause, what is there 
wanting to confirm her right to our esteem and 
love ?— Christians ! surely one look into the grave 
of Jesus, might cure you of that coldness and in- 
difference, with which, at sometimes it may be, 
you are wont to regard him. Can any one re- 
flect, by what a road, and with what a temper, he 
passed through the valley of death into the man- 
sions of the dead, and maintain a cold indiffer- 
ence towards him ? What a heart must that be, 
in which a scene like this cannot raise the senti- 
ments of admiration, esteem, and tenderness, or, 
in which those sentiments, in the contemplation 
of such a scene, can be repressed P 

What was it that brought your Lord, thus dis- 
honoured to the grave ? Did they fix him to the 
fatal tree, that he might go about to do them 
good no more ? Did they send him to this land 
of silence, that they might hear from him the glad 
tidings of forgiveness, and of eternal life, no 
more : Christians ! that cross would never have 



JReflections on the tomb of Jesus. 291 

been stained with the blood of Jesus, if the 
world had not been defiled with guilt; that se- 
pulchre never would have held his lifeless body, 
if men had not broken the law of God. Ruin 
was before them if they returned not to their obe- 
dience, and Jesus died, to bring them unto 
God. He died, that our hopes of mercy might 
revive; he died, that having lived to God in this 
world, we might, for ever, live with him in a bet- 
ter. He died, that according to the promise of his 
father, he might become the author of eternal 
life unto all those who obey him. 

Was he condemned at the bar of Pilate, that 
we might not be condemned at the bar of God? 
Did he despise all this shame, that we might not 
be overcome by the temptations of the world? 
Christians, you are to live for ever ; what then do 
ye not owe unto him who hath abolished death ? 
The love of Christ is essential to the character 
of a Christian — beware, that by your indifference 
towards him, ye render not yourselves unworthy 
of that holy name by which ye are called ! 

Hitherto our reflections on the sepulchre of 
Joseph have taken their rise from the considera- 
tion that the Son of God was deposited within it. 
I would now suggest, in conclusion, a practical 

U2 



292 Reflections on the tomb of Jesus. 

remark or two, founded upon another reflection, 
viz. that he did not continue to lie there. — cc He 
" is not here/' said the angel, " for he is risen, as 
" he said." 

How adorable is God, how wonderful in 
working, how excellent in counsel, how abundant 
in means ! He speaks, and it is done. Although 
we were entombed in the bowels of the earth • 
though rocks and hills were heaped upon our 
graves, and legions of soldiers employed to pre- 
vent all approach 5 one angel, with a divine 
commission, one command from the mouth of 
God, would disperse the guard, and rend the 
rocks, and heal the wounds of death, and raise 
the dead to immortality ! 

Had you been sitting in the sepulchre of Jesus 
when the fortieth hour from his crucifixion was 
expiring, you would have seen the Lord, dead ? 
cold, and unimpressible as the rock he lay upon, 
and all things around him, the guard who watched 
there excepted, still as the midnight calm : — the 
next moment would have shown you, the earth 
trembling, the Angel of the Lord coming down 
from Heaven, the sepulchre burst open, the 
•guard confounded, and Jesus going forth in- 
vested with immortal life ! In a moment the 



Reflections on the tomb of Jesus. 293 

spirit took possession of the body whence it had 
retired ; in a moment that heart was healed which 
the spear had pierced, and that countenance, late 
so, pale and deathly, illumined, with all the wis- 
dom and all the virtue, which it was ever wont 
to express. 

<f How marvellous are the works of God ! He 
" is great, and his name is great in might; who 
" in the Heavens can be compared unto the Lord, 
" who among the sons of the mighty can be 
" likened unto our God ? ?> He is pursuing his 
designs, even when he seems to have forgotten 
them, and is carrying on his purposes by the very 
means that are employed to defeat them. The 
Jews did not interrupt his counsels when they 
laid Jesus in the grave. From that sepulchre, 
where all the hopes of his desponding disciples 
were entombed^ the deliverer of Israel came 
forth, invested with supreme power, and aided* 
through the death he had endured, to send salva- 
tion to the ends of the earth. The ways of God 
are not as our ways 3 neither are his thoughts as 
our thoughts ! 

Jn the sixth place.— When we look into the 
tomb of Jesus, and see that he is not there, we 
are unavoidably reminded of Zophar's observe 



294> Reflections on the tomb of Jesus. 

tion, that the triumph of the wicked is short. 
Triumph, indeed, for a time, they may ; the 
enemies of Jesus triumphed when they saw him 
conveyed to the silent tomb, They persecuted 
him, till they destroyed him ; they took away his 
mortal life, but to do more, was beyond their 
power 3 they could not prevent his resurrection ; 
and the glories and felicities to which he rose 
were as far above their reach, as beyond their 
comprehension. 

Christians, <c be not envious when you see the 
€ f prosperity of the wicked it is not long that 
they will triumph over you : keep the road you 
have wisely chosen ; a few fleeting days will bring 
you to the land where all men shall receive ac- 
cording to their works. 

Sinners, consider your condition \ you are op- 
posing his righteous will, against whom all oppo- 
sition is vain. Happy, as you may be 5 in the sun- 
shine of prosperity, even then, your happiness is 
not to be compared with that of the genuine 
Christian, although clouds and darkness may 
overshadow his dwelling ! The path of the just 
is as the morning light which shineth more and 
more, until all their hopes and wishes are ac- 
complished, in the glories of the perfect day: 



Reflections on the tomb of Jesus. 2Q5 

the way of the wicked is like the evening shades, 
enlivened it may be for a while by the varied 
colours of a setting sun, but which deepen and 
still deepen on the traveller as he proceeds, till at 
length, finding no road to the shelter which he 
wants, and stumbling at he knows not what, he 
is suddenly involved in all the horrors of mid- 
night, cold, and darkness. 

If there be any thing concerning which we can 
certainly be assured that it is an irreversible de- 
cree of God, it is this, which, frorn early times, 
he has again and again committed to his ministers 
and messengers. " Say ye to the righteous that 
<c it shall be well with them, for they shall eat of 
" the fruit of their doings; but woe unto the 
" wicked, for it shall be ill with him, for the re- 
" ward of his hands shall be given him." It is 
the doctrine of the law, it is the doctrine of the 
prophets, and it is the doctrine of the gospel 
also. — Do you allege, sinners, that although you 
be not righteous, yet you are not wretched ? 
Alas ! your prosperity, instead of fostering your 
presumption, should alarm your apprehension. 
When the husbandman has cast the seed into his 
ground, does he hastily conclude, because the 
harvest comes not immediately, that it never will 



296 Reflections on the tomb of Jesus. 

arrive ? or, if he sow tares in his field, does he 
vainly expect, that wheat will be the produce ? 

Tell me, sinner, what rule of the divine con- 
duct, what maxim of the divine government was 
ever violated ? In what instance has the counsel 
of the Almighty been successfully opposed? 
It is the decree of God that we should come into 
this world, weak, helpless, and ignorant \ de- 
pendent for every thing, on the care and kindness 
of our progenitors; was ever any man born other- 
wise ? It is the decree of God that no man shall 
take up his lasting abode in this world; has ever 
any man discovered the means of acting in oppo- 
sition to this decree, and of making himself a per- 
manent settlement here below ? It is the decree of 
God, that according as is the conduct of our early 
life, such shall be the habits and character of our 
future years 5 can any man spend his childhood 
and youth in dissipation, indolence, vice, and 
folly, and, in his following years have no ignorance 
■whereof to be ashamed, no habits of idleness and 
sensuality, wherewith to reproach himself? 

By divine appointment, by the connections 
which God has unalterably established, the fu- 
turities of the coming world, depend as certainly 
upon the conduct of this present life, as the fi> 



Refections on the tomb of Jesus. 297 

turities of this world depend upon its preceding 
periods. — You might as well hope to grow wise 
in the school of folly, virtuous in the school of 
vice, or to be made immortal by the deadliest 
poison, as to attain happiness by disobeying the 
commands of God. That you shall be judged 
hereafter, is as much a condition of your ex- 
istence here, as that you shall die. And do you 
know what judgment is P It is the just accommo- 
dation of your circumstances to your character, 
according to the measure of your merit or 
your guilt. The very same connection that 
the Creator and Ruler of the universe has in- 
separably established, between any other cause 
and its natural effects, between any other con- 
dition and its correspondent consequences, the 
same has he established between holiness and 
happiness. If you have not yet experienced, 
that sin produces sorrow, it is because this is 
only your seed time, and that the time of harvest 
is not yet come. As easily may you build a 
house upon the surface of the ocean, as attempt 
to lay the foundation of true and gurable en- 
joyment in the contempt "of God's counsels, and 
the disobedience of his laws, 

In the last place. — To look Into the tomb 



298 Reflections on the toynb of Jesus. 

where Jesus lay, to' employ our thoughts on the 
sepulchre from which he arose, has a natural ten- 
dency to confirm and encourage the joys and 
hopes of virtue. 

Christians, there is a sense in which you may 
adopt the language of the Psalmist, " I have 
6S set the Lord always before me, because he is at 
* c my right hand I shall not be moved. ? Yes, 
Christians, you may take up the Apostle's tri- 
umph, If you breathe his spirit, you may enjoy 
his transport ; * c Blessed be the God and Father 
<£ of our Lord Jesus Christ, who, of his abundant 
" mercy, by the resurrection of his Son from the 
ec dead, hath begotten us again unto a lively hope 
cc of an inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, and 
€£ that fadeth not away." <c Because he lives, ye 
* s shall live also." Let us truly enjoy our lives in 
devoting them unto (jod— let us trust him who 
gave our blessed Lord the victory over death, to 
befriend us also, in the dying hour. 

Tv r e will take the comfort suggested by the 
empty sepulchre of him, by whose name we 
are called; we will take it for our departed 
friends s we will take it for our dying selves. 
Jn the Heavenly World we shall find our pious 



'Reflections on the tomb of Jesus. 29^ 

fathers, and thither our pious children shall here- 
after repair. In that glorious morning when 
we shall have got this conflict over, we shall 
teli the king of terrors, that the victory is 
ours. 

<c Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye 
" steadfast, immovable, always abounding in 
" the work of the Lord, forasmuch as ye know 
" that your labour shall not be in vain, in the 
« Lord." 

PRAYER. 

Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty, who 
can understand his errors ? cleanse thou us from 
secret faults, keep back thy servants also from 
pre umptuous sins, let them not have dominion, 
over us. Deliver us from that carnal mind which 
is enmity against thee, and from that love of 
this wond which so fatally opposes itself to every 
thing which is truly excellent 

Blessed be thy name that thou hast Jaid help 
for us, on one who is able to save unto the ut- 
termost, all those who come unto thee by him 1 
In the gospel dispensation, in the doctrine of 
Jesus Christ our Lord, in his obedience unto 
dgath, and his exaltation to a kingdom, thou 



300 Reflections on Hie tomb of Jesus, 

hast furnished us with all desirable advantages to 
deliver us from the dominion of sin, or to preserve 
us from it. May the love of Christ constrain us to 
Jive not unto ourselves, but unto him. May we ap- 
prove ourselves his faithful subjects by a con- 
scientious obedience to his laws, by a growing re- 
semblance to his character, and by our sincere con- 
cern to preserve the peace, and to promote the in- 
terests of his kingdom. Whatsoever things are just, 
true, pure, lovely, venerable, and of good report, 
if there be any virtue, if there be any praise, on 
these things may we meditate, and in these 
tilings may we ever be studious to excel. 



( 301 ) 



DISCOURSE XIX. 

david's morning hymn of praise. 



Psalm xix. 1 ... 7. 

3- THE HEAVENS DECLARE THE GLORY OF GOD', AND THE 
FIRMAMENT SHOWETH HIS HANDY WORK. " DAY UNTO 
DAY UTTERETH SPEECH, AND NIGHT UNTO NIGHT 
SHOWETH KNOWLEDGE. 3 - THEPvE IS NO SPEECH NOR 
LANGUAGE, THEIR VOICE IS NOT HEARD. 4. TKF.IR 
SOUND IS GONE OUT THROUGH ALL THE EARTH, AND 
THEIR WORDS TO THE ENDS OF THE WORLD : IN TEEM 
HATH HE SET A TABERNACLE FOR THE SUN : 5. WH0 t3 
AS A BRIDEGROOM COMING OUT OF HIS CHAMBER, RE- 
JOICING AS A STRONG MAN TO RUN A RACE. 6 - HIS GOING 
FORTH IS FROM THE END OF THE HEAVEN; AND HIS 
CIRCUIT UNTO THE ENDS OF IT ! AND THERE IS NOTHING 
HID FROM THE HEAT THEREOF. 

It has-been objected that the celebrated Author 
of this Ode, and of many other exquisitely beau- 
tiful devotional pieces, was not made a better 
man by his devotion, that his moral conduct was 
not improved by it, and that his memory, in one 
fatal instance at least, is stigmatised by crimes of 



302 David's Morning Hymn of Praise. 

the deepest die. That in that instance he was de- 
plorably deficient in the virtues of self government; 
that one unhappy deviation from the paths of 
rectitude, in his case, as in that of a thousand 
others, led on to another, and to another, still more 
flagrant and atrocious 5 that being raised to the 
pinnacle of human greatness, the power he 
thought he possessed of extricating himself from 
the ignominy of his vices, supplied an additional 
temptation, which he had not the resolution to 
withstand, no one surely will deny : let his ex- 
ample be held up as an awful proof of the se- 
ducible nature of the human heart, and " let him 
" who standeth, take heed lest he fall." 

But, does it follow from the inefficacy of David's 
piety, on some particular occasions, to overcome 
the fatal effects of headstrong passion, that 
therefore, respecting the whole cf his character, 
it was of no avail ? Contrast with this, the many- 
virtues by which he was distinguished, his forti- 
tude, his magnanimity, his ardent zeal for the 
prosperity and happiness of his people. Contrast 
with this, his deep repentance when the Prophet 
of God awakened his sleeping conscience, by the 
beautiful parable of the one Ewe Lamb. Can 
anv one read the heart-rending strains cf deea 



David's Morning Hymn of Praise. 303 

contrition in his penitential psalms, and entertain 
a doubt that his piety did not exceedingly me- 
liorate and improve his character ? 

But it is not pur design at present to weigh in the 
balance, the faults and the virtues of this eminent 
person. His virtues surely we may safely imitate, 
notwithstanding the dark shades by which they 
were sometimes overcast* Like him, when we 
awake in the morning, enabled to return with 
renewed cheerfulness and vigour to the several 
duties of our respective stations, we also may 
humble ourselves before the presence of God. Like 
him, at morning, at evening, at noon and at mid- 
night, may we pour out our praises and thanks- 
givings. Like him, we may begin and end the 
day with some serious inquiry into our own hearts 
and lives ; with some devout reflections on the 
mercy and providence of God, or some pious 
meditation on his works or in his law. When 
other duties of more immediate obligation, call 
not for our attention, as they were his, So these 
also should be our employment and delight : and 
by these means, like him, we may endeavour to 
attain, that sensibility of heart towards things 
invisible and spiritual ; to that ardent love of 
God ; to that elevation and fervour of devotion ; 



304 David's Morning Hymn of Praise. 

which so eminently adorned his character ; and 
by which he stands so illustriously distinguished, 
among the sons of men, 

The subject of this psalm naturally suggests 
the supposition, that it was one of David's morn- 
ing meditations. Risen from the bed of sleep, 
his powers refreshed, his heart enlivened, the ex- 
ercise of his understanding clear, vigorous, and 
easy ; his soul breathing out the most fervent 
gratitude towards that God, whose omnipresence 
and whose omnipotence he acknowleged, it is not 
improbable that he was alone, walking in his 
palace on the hill of Sion ; meditating on those 
mercies which never failed him, and on those 
demonstrations of the glory of God with which 
he was continually surrounded. Every object he 
beheld, aided his devotion, afforded him new 
matter of admiration and of praise, and seemed 
to declare aloud the greatness and the goodness 
of that secret power, by which they were origi- 
nally formed, and by which they are perpetually 
preserved in being. 

The shades of night, were probably now pas- 
sing away, and the dawn of day beginning to 
display its transcendent beauties; all nature, with 
himself Was revived, risen as it were from the 
dead y and as darkness drew aside her curtain 



Baud's M orn ing Hymn of Praise. 205 

from the world, a new creation rose up before his 
eyes. Transported with the glorious sight, he 
indulged the rapture it inspired in the genuine 
spirit of devotion. All the happiness he beheld, 
he referred to the first great source of good ; all 
the power which was displayed before him, he 
ascribed to the divine energy and operation, and 
all the wisdom discoverable in the constitution of 
nature and the various dependences and connec- 
tions of its principles, he imputed to the great 
original, by whose word the worlds were formed, 
and who made them all, in number, weight, and 
measure. 

Here, as in a mirror he beheld the face of his 
Creator; he considered every expression of con- 
tentment or of gladness displayed in the animal 
creation, as a hymn of praise and of thanksgiving 
to the Almighty, and every being that he looked 
upon, as a pillar erected to his honour. The 
whole fabric of the universe seemed as one mighty 
monument, raised to perpetuate the conviction of 
his existence, his universal government, and the re- 
membrance of his transcendent excellence. * How 
8 astonishing,' would he exclaim, ' are the degrees 
* of excellence I can observe between the reptile 
c that crawlsbeneath my fee t,and that vital, rational, 

X 



David's Morning Hymn of Praise. 

f and immortal image of himself, that animates this 

* clay-built body ! No power of mine, raised as 

* I am to the pinnacle of human greatness, could 
' make a pile of grass, or even create the smallest 
c particle of matter. The secret energies that 
c sustain so wonderfully this various fabric, that 
6 feeds these vital powers, that directs, combines, 

* and actuates their operations ; that prolongs 
' them from time to time, that renews them in 
s their respective seasons, and that carries them 
'through their successive changes to their ap- 
6 pointed periods, surpasses all my conceptions, 
£ and eludes my most diligent inquiries. O God, 
*the more I am conversant with thy works, the 

* more arguments do I gather of thy perfect skill, 
' of thine infinite wisdom ; the more instances do 
e I collect, of thy boundless goodness ; the greater 
i conviction do I feel of my incapacity to fathom 
{ the depth of thy counsels, and of my total inabi- 
( lity to show forth all thy praise 1 How manifold 
< are thy works, in wisdom hast thou made them 
' all ; all thy creatures praise thee ; the earth is 
4 full of thy riches, and so also is that great and 
6 wide sea, the emblem of thine own immensity, 

* where my views are lost, and my prospects a?e 
i unbounded P 



David's Morning Hymn of Praise. 307 

Whilst thus the thoughts of the Psalmist were 
ranging through the earth, and gathering from 
every object that met his eye, some fragrant 
instance of praise and of thanksgiving ; whilst 
thus, in a manner perfectly becoming the intel- 
lectual and moral nature, he was presenting his 
morning sacrifice, the sun arose — he turned to 
behold that glorious luminary, and struck with 
its majestic splendour, his thoughts were instantly 
transferred from earth to heaven. His heart, al- 
ready glowing with sentiments of piety, the whole 
current of his affections set so strongly towards 
God, that it could not be impeded or diverted, 
but bearing forwards, and carrying every thing 
along with it, augmented by every object that 
it met with, he proceeded in the same strain of 
thought, and the same spirit of devotion, to adopt 
the language of the text. 6 Nor is thy bounty, 

* O God, confined to the earth on which we 
c dwell ; nor are thy perfections written alone on 
c the dust of the ground, or merely enstamped 

* upon every animal that treads there.— That 

* azure canopy which is stretched out above, with 
c all the shining ornaments that distinguish it, 
6 an infinitely greater, and an infinitely nobler fa- 
6 brie, acknowledges the same original, and derives 

X2 



20$ fiavid's Morning Hymn of Pratsc. 

* alike its splendours, and its existence, from out 

* God.' " Of old did he lay the foundations of 
" the earth, and the heavens also are the work 
w of his hands." 6 While things terrestrial are so 

* loud and so harmonious in his praise, celestial 
< things are neither silent nor unintelligible. Ask. 
« them, if the splendours with which they shine be 
ff their own ? Make reason their interpreter, and 
« they answer, No/ " The heavens declare the 
« gi or y of God, and the firmament showeth his 
" handy work." ' Look upon the firmament, was 

* it always thus arrayed ?— No * to the eye of 
* reason, to the judicious and discerning mind, 
« there appear those marks of derivation and de- 
« pendence which condemn the worshipper of 
« the celestial luminaries; which demonstrate that 
■ they also are creatures of the same power, that 
'made the earth and its inhabitants: so similar 
c in all its laws, so closely connected with them 
< in all its interests, we are not permitted to 
« ascribe to them any higher honour, than that of 

* being the heralds of our CreatorVpraise.' 

«The heavens declare the glory of God, and 

* the firmament showeth his handy work. Day 
« unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night, 
« showeth knowledge » « It is not in one place . 



David's Miming Hymn of Praise. 309 

* or aspect of the heavens only, that the glory of 
' God is revealed : the noon day splendour displays 

5 indeed that uncreated and eternal source of light, 

* in which there is no darkness at all j but it is not 

* less clearly nor Jess abundantly manifested in the 

* more numerous, though more distant suns which 
4 we see burning in the midnight firmament.' 

* Not merely once has this glorious host 4iV 
'played itself in the cause of religion and of 
f God. Once to have beheld ihe starry firma* 

* ment ; once to have seen the sun * e rejoicing 
** in his strength $*' to have enjoyed one cheerful 

* day, to have waked through one awful night* 

* though from henceforth the' amazing vision had 

6 never more been exhibited to our sight, must 

* have left behind them such impressions, as no 

* time could have effaced - 9 such matter of serious 

* contemplation, as could not have failed to dis- 
' pose the thoughtful mind to religious sentiment 
< and devout affection ; such deep conviction, 
' such rejoicing evidence of an eternal and in- 

* finitely perfect Being, who made the universe^ 
' and rules it, as could hardly have failed to create 

* an ardent desire of obtaining a more perfect 
' knowledge of him; a sincere delight in the con- 
f £empla£ion of his perfections, and the study of 

S3 



310 David's Morning Hymn of Praise. 

' his will, and a solicitous endeavour to obtain 
4 the consolation of his friendship/ 

Thus, in like manner as we are told, that those 
glorious spirits, who dwell in his immediate pre- 
sence, cease not day or night to celebrate in the 
most perfect manner the high praises of the Lord, 
so the Psalmist has most beautifully and justly 
represented the celestial luminaries as declaring 
their Creator's glory, and never ceasing to declare 
it : as delighted with the employment and never 
weary of the work ; as burning with a fervent 
zeal to signalize themselves in the service of their 
Maker ; as actuated with an intelligent and ra- 
tional solicitude that their ministry should prove 
successful with the sons of men ; successful to im- 
press their minds with a sense of their duty unto 
♦ God, and to engage them in the pious contem- 
plation of his excellencies, and a cheerful confor- 
mity to his will. The day therefore, when it has 
finished its course, when it is taking its leave of 
those whom it has been cheering and enlighten- 
ing, and is now departing into eternity, to return 
no more unto mankind 5 is most beautifully de- 
scribed by this sacred Poet as looking backwards 
to address its successor ; committing to the com- 
ing day, the ministry, which itself was laying 



BavicCs Morning Hymn of Praise* 31 1 

down ; urging the next rising morning, to begin 
with the Almighty's praise; to prolong the instruc- 
tive lesson, which itself could stay no longer to 
inculcate ; and to resume those pious admoni- 
tions, which itself could repeat no more. " Day 
" unto day uttereth speech," and in like manner, 
proceeds the Psalmist, " night unto night showeth 
" knowledge." As if the night also, not contented 
with what itself had revealed of the awful 
grandeur and boundless majesty of God ; not 
satisfied with the lessons which itself had read to 
the serious and rational spectator, of its solemn 
shades, and its living fires ; leaves it, when the 
returning day has put an end to its own ministry, 
leaves it in pious charge with the night that shall 
succeed, to resume its doctrine, to continue its 
instructions; and, when its own course is like- 
wise finished, to teach its successor, the night 
that shall follow, in what manner to employ its 
powers and its voice to perpetuate the Creator's 
praise — "Night unto night showeth knowledge." 

In this manner, with the greatest propriety, as 
well as with the most lively eloquence, does the 
Psalmist represent to us the uniformity of Nature, 
and the regular revolutions of the heavens, with 
the evidence they afford of that kind and power™ 

X4 



3 1 2 David? s Morning Hymn of Praise. 

ful Providence from which their motions proceed, 
and by which they are preserved, and governed. 
The marks of their Creator's infinite perfection 
are indeed so clearly impressed upon the heavens 
above, that no serious observer can err, either 
concerning their origin, or concerning the amiable 
and adorable character of their great Author. 
> To express this sentiment, in itself so plain, so 
just and true, we see the Psalmist has employed 
the noblest imagery, he has ascribed to the hea- 
vens, intelligence and speech ; he has animated 
the celestial orbs with the intensest fervours of de- 
votion, and has endued them vyjth a voice that 
may be distinctly heard by all the inhabitants of 
this world. He describes their alternations, their 
different states and conditions, as speaking one 
unto another in the audience ot mankind, con- 
cerning the infinite perfection of that uncreated 
mind, from whose good pleasure and whose 
power, these vicissitudes proceed. 

Having thus, with this bold, yet not unjustifi- 
able sublimity ? celebrated the skill of the Creator 
as manifested in that majestic canopy which he 
hath spread over our heads, it seems as if the 
thought had struck his mind, that perhaps his 
imagination had been too daring in its flight $ 



David's Morning Hymn of Praise. 313 

and that the chief of the choir, to whom this 
Psalm was addressed, and the congregation by 
whom it was to be employed in the public wor- 
ship of God, might be startled and confounded, 
and doubtful in what manner they were to under- 
stand the royal Poet, when they heard him ascribe 
ing to the heavens, intelligence and speech. 
They saw the sun from day to day repeating his ac- 
customed journey, but they heard no voice from 
heaven; they saw the moon and stars, from night 
to night travelling their appointed course, but 
the most solemn silence was observed. To 
obviate any doubts or difficulties, that from this 
cause might disturb and perplex the mind, the 
Psalmist goes on in the same sublime and pious 
strain in which he had began. — " No speech, no 
"language, their vpice is not heard." 

The beauty of the original is absolutely lost, 
the sense exceedingly misrepresented, and the 
connection strangely violated, as they stand in 
our version; for, the Psalmist is not here asserting 
that the voice of the heavens is universally heard, 
and as universally understood by people of all 
nations and all languages ; this, he asserts in the 
next verse, and is here only preparing the way 
for that observation, Here, he acknowledges, that 



314 David's Morning Hymn of Praise. 

in strict propriety, in the reality and truth of 
things, these heavenly luminaries have no speech 
nor language, no voice to be perceived by the 
external sense; nevertheless that their sound (not 
their line, as it stands in our version, which is 
another error that has greatly impaired the beauty 
and perspicuity of this inimitable ode) is gone 
forth through all the earth, and their words unto 
the ends of the world. 

The sense and connection of the whole passage, 
literally interpreted, is as follows, viz. 

" The heavens declare the glory of God, and 
ct the firmament proclaims his workmanship. Day 
" unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night 
" teacheth knowledge : no speech have they in- 
" deed, no language, and their voice is not 
"heard; yet, into all the world is their sound 
" gone forth, and to the end of the earth, their 
" words." i. e. It is true, the heavens have no 
audible voice, but they have language, which all 
rational spectators can understand. If they merely 
spake to the external sense, by those only would 
they be understood, whose language might be 
similar to theirs: — they address not the ear, but 
the understanding ; their language is universal 5 
it is heard from one end of the creation to the 



David's Morning Hymn of Praise. 315 

other; understood, not only throughout this earth 
of ours, but throughout all the universe of God ; 
and wherever there is an intelligent spectator, 
whether here or in any other world, there, they 
proclaim the goodness of their Creator. 

Having thus celebrated the glory of God, as in 
general displayed in the firmament of heaven, he 
proceeds to take more especial notice of that sub- 
lime object, which seems first to have drawn his 
meditations to the heavens— the sun just rising 
in his sight. 

" In them" (i. e. in the heavens,) he proceeds, 
" hath God set a tabernacle for the sun." Here, 
if I am not mistaken, the Psalmist speaks of that 
purple light, which is the forerunner of the morn- 
ing ; of those painted clouds which usually adorn 
the eastern heavens before the rising of the sun- 
On these he had been gazing, expecting that ere 
long this glorious luminary would step forth from 
behind them, and show himself unto the world. 
Very naturally and very beautifully the Psalmist 
considered these as a tabernacle, a splendid 
pavilion wrought by the hand of God; where, this 
great source of day, during the shadows of the 
night, had reposed himself, and from which he 
was about to issue forth ; with renewed brightness 



SI -6 Davids Morning Hymn of Praise* 

and recruited strength. This conception he pro- 
longs, and pursues the idea through the follow.* 

ing verses. 

" In them hath he, (God) se ; t a tabernacle for 
cc the sun, who," adds the Psalmist, <c is as a 
Ci bridegroom corning cut of his chamber, rejoic- 
" ing as a strong man to run a race. His going 
f£ forth is from the end of the heaven, and his cir- 
<c cuit to the end of it, and there is nothing hid 
cc from the heat thereof."—' How vast, how 

* amazing is the course he must finish before 

* night, from that extremity of heaven whence 

* he is now issuing forth, through the immeasur- 
e able vault that bends above my head, to the 
c extremest west, where I last night watched his 
' departing beams. Nor, is the extent, or the 
c rapidity of his yearly circuit which forms our 
c seasons and their changes, less wonderful than, 
f those of his diurnal round, which constitutes our 
f day and night; by nieans of one, the inhabitants 

* of every land ? enjoy in regular succession the 
c benefits of light and darkness - 9 by the other, at 
f uniform and equal periods, every climate is blest 
-* with the necessary interchanges of seed time 
t and harvest, summer and winter j and thus are 



David's Morning HyjJin of Prake. Zil 

* the benefits of his enlivening warmth, equally 

* and liberally dispensed to every portion of this 
' globe y and to every creature under heaven/ 

Thus have I endeavoured to illustrate to you 
the true sense, beauty, and piety, of the first 
part of this sacred hymn. You have seen that 
it suffers much and loses a great deal of its 
perspicuity, its elegance, and sublimity, from the 
inaccuracy of our version. There is however la 
our language a poetic version which does greater 
justice to the original ; I will not say that the 
worthy author has retained all the thoughts and 
all the sublimity, together with all the simplicity 
of the royal poet, but this I may say, that it is 
composed in the same elevated spirit of devotion* 
and that whoever has sufficient sensibility of heart 
to relish and admire the one, cannot be disgusted 
or unaffected by the other, 

1. THE spacious firmament on high, 
With all the blue ethereal sky, 

And spangled heavens, a shining frame* 
Their great original proclaim. 

2. The unwearyM sun, from day to day, 
Doth its Creator's power display ; 
And publishes to ev'ry land, 

The work of an almighty hand- 



3 1 3 David's Morning Hymn of Praise. 

3. Soon as the evening shades prevail, 
The moon takes up the wondrous tale; 
And nightly to the listening earth 
Repeats the story of her birth ; 

4. Whilst all the stars which round her burn,. 
And all the planets in their turn, 
Confirm the tidings as they roil, 

And spread the truth from pole to pole. 

5. What, tho* in solemn silence all 
Move round this dark terrestrial ball ; 
What, tho* no real voice nor sound 
Amid these radiant orbs be found ; 

6. In reason's ear they all rejoice, 
And utter forth a glorious voice ; 
For ever singing, as they shine, 

" The hand that made us is divine. '* 

A. 

PRAYER. 

Who in the heavens can be compared unto 
the Lord ? or who among the sons of the mighty 
can be likened unto our God ? Thou, O Lord, 
art the eternal fountain of light, and life, and 
happiness ; the creator of all things visible and 
invisible - y the constant supporter, the gracious 



David's Morning Hymn of Praise. 3 1 9 

governor, the daily preserver of universal nature ; 
the tender father and the righteous judge, of 
angels and of men 1 

Thou art great, O Lord, beyond our most en- 
larged conceptions, may thy grandeur make deep 
impressions on our souls; may we never presume 
to take thy holy name upon our lips, unaccom- 
panied by the deepest sentiments of reverence 
and awe; for who shall not fear before thee, and 
glorify thy name? — Thou art good also beyond 
all cur gratitude, and thy mercies unto us, sur- 
pass all number! What shall we render unto thee 
for all thy benefits? We would love thee with 
all our hearts, and soul, and mind, and strength ! 

Most devoutly do we bless thee, O most mer- 
ciful Father, that thou hast made us capable of 
knowing whence all our comforts flow; of ren- 
dering thee a reasonable voluntary service ; of 
holding some communion with thee upon earth,, 
in the sacred duties of religious meditation, prayer, 
and praise ; and of rendering ourselves more fit 
for the exalted services of thine heavenly king:- 
dom, when time and days shall be no more ' 

I 



( 320 ) 



DISCOURSE XXc 

ON THE GLORY OF GOD, AS DISPLAYED BY THE 
HEAVENLY LUMINARIES. 

PART IL 

t*SALM XIX. 1. 

THE HEAVENS DECLARE THE GLORY OF GOD, AND THE FIR- 
MAMENT SHOWETH HIS HANDY WORK. 

There is scarcely an instance of neglect or in- 
sensibility more unworthy of our character, than 
to live surrounded on all sides by ten thousand 
objects that proclaim the glory of God, and yet 
to live carelessly and stupidly inattentive to their 
voice; indevoutly unobservant of that secret 
agency by which they are sustained and governed; 
veiled, indeed, it must be confessed by the in- 
tervention of second causes, but the glory of 
which, notwithstanding, shines through the veil 
w r ith such brightness, that every attentive eye 
may see, and every human heart is bound to ac~ 
knowledge, to admire, and to adore it. 



On the Glory of God, 321 

Rejecting every thing abstruse or remote from 
common apprehension, I shall avail myself o^ the 
text as a guide ; for we shall stand in need of 
some pilot or landmark, that we may not lose 
ourselves in so immense an ocean. Even those 
instances of divine perfection, which are mani- 
fested in the heavens, and lie open and level unto 
common apprehension are so very numerous, that 
not one, nor many Discourses would be sufficient 
to collect them. I must content myself, there- 
fore, with the mention of a very few ; which 
may serve as a kind of specimen of the rest, and 
as an illustration of the manner in which we 
ought to meditate on the works of God. 
' It is most natural, in the first place, to take 
notice of the external aspect of the heavens, for 
even thence we may learn something of the 
glory of their Maker, and derive some considera- 
tions to increase our reverence of him. In the 
productions of human power and skill, there is 
ordinarily something even in the first appearance, 
previous to any diligent examination, without any 
accurate survey, which bespeaks the excellency 
(if the works be indeed excellent) of the hand 
that made them, and which demonstrates that 
they are the performance of a master: in the 

Y 



322 On the Glory of God ^ as displayed 

works of God, therefore, we may reasonably ex- 
pect, that on the most transient survey, there 
should appear something infinitely magnificent 
and great, something that should mark them as 
divine.— The expectation is just, and, in no in- 
stance, will it ever be disappointed, but in no in- 
stance will it be more completely satisfied than in 
the contemplation of the heavens. 

In that azure vault, though we regard not the 
luminaries that revolve there, the most perfect 
simplicity is united with the most majestic 
grandeur. Who could stretch out the heavens 
but an Almighty arm? or who could paint them 
in their various attractive and ever-changing 
beauties, but an all-skilful Artist ? In the noon 
of day, what surpassing glory ; iri^ the noon of 
night, what solemn shades ! If we look to the 
rising sun, how majestic is his motion ! how 
bright his radiance ! the whole scene of his ap- 
pearance, how magnificent and sublime ! If we 
gaze on the setting sun, what eye is not struck by 
the innumerable dies with which he tinges the 
western Heavens ? What art can rival the paint- 
ing of his declining beams, or what heart does 
not feel itself composed and softened, by a 
spectacle, so tranquil, and serene? The mid- 



by the Heavenly Luminaries. 323 

day blaze is at once an image and a proof of his 
unutterable glory who dwells in light to which 
no man can approach — the ten thousand lamps 
that adorn the nightly firmament, that even 
cheer its horrors while they make its gloom more 
sensible and awful, could be suspended by no other, 
than an Almighty Architect. That solemn scene 
declares his power to involve us in the most tre- 
mendous ruin ; it speaks also of his readiness 
to set before us, -all the profusion of his glory, 
and his love ! The source of day speaks aloud 
the praise of that uncreated light in which there 
is no darkness at all : and when the moon issues 
forth to supply his absence, most powerfully 
does she remind us of the tender mercy of God ; 
who gives to man every blessing in its season, 
and who would not leave us to despondence or 
to want. Whilst her incessant changes exhibit 
to us an emblem of the inconstancy of earthly 
things, and of human characters, she exhibits a 
proof also, of an unchanging hand, that guides 
and rules her motions ; even the " father of 
" lights, with whom there is no variableness nor 
<c shadow of changing." 

Second. The heavens still further reveal the 
glory of God, if we attend to the magnitude of 

Y2 



324 On the Glory of God, as displayed 

the celestial bodies, the vast extent of the space 
in which they move, and the rapidity with which 
their motions are performed. 

With a very few exceptions, every star that 
we behold is another sun unto another svstem ; 
placed in the centre of many worlds, and af- 
fording unto each as they revolve around it, 
their proper measure both of light and heat, in 
their appointed seasons. If so many suns, how 
many worlds r If so many worlds, what numbers 
can express the inconceivable multitude of their 
inhabitants ? all of them the creatures of divine 
power, the monuments of divine wisdom, the ob- 
jects of divine love ! — Think then, while you are 
gazing on the starry firmament, how many 
myriads of unnumbered worlds are at that mo- 
ment rejoicing in the goodness of their Maker, 
and are even then praising him, whose praise the 
starry firmament invites us also to celebrate. 
Of all these innumerable worlds, that one on which 
we live, vast as we conceive it, is among the least 
that we behold. There are those even in our 
own system, to whose ocean our ocean is a pool, 
and to whose mountains our mountains are as the 
smallest hillock ! 

These observations may a little assist you in 
conceiving something of the vast magnitude of 



by the Heavenly Luminaries. 325 

the "works of God; but would you be informed 
how wide is the extent of his creation, I can do 
little more than tell you, that as his works for 
number are innumerable, so the space they oc- 
cupy for extent is immeasureableo It may aid your 
thoughts to be told, that if you travelled round 
this globe for more than 30,000 times, you would 
not have travelled by much so far as the earth is 
distant from the sun; and that taking even the 
velocity of a cannon ball, you could not complete 
your journey thither in twenty-two years. Yet, 
astonishing as is the space that is stretched out 
between our world, and the sun, which enlightens 
it daily by his beams, if compared with the space 
that is comprehended within all the worlds that re- 
volve around him, it is not so much as the area 
of this house of prayer, to the city wherein it 
stands, and, in comparison of the universe, even 
that space is not as a hand's breadth to this globe ! 
What an idea does this give us of the extent of 
the Divine Presence! God is, wherever there are 
any of his creatures ; out of his sight, or reach, or 
power, or knowledge, you cannot go. Though 
you flew with the rapidity of a ray of light, and 
prolonged your flight unto eternity, still as you 
left new worlds behind^ new worlds would be 

y 3 



326 On the Glory of God, as displayed 

continually passed by, and new worlds continu- 
ally coming into view ! 

Sinner, when the day of retribution comes, 
whither canst thou betake thyself for refuge ? 
What art thou, that wrath should not come upon 
thee to the uttermost ? Sinner, stand in awe of 
God; think how terrible a thing it is to fall into 
his hands, what art thou that in his wrath he 
should not crush thee ? 

Go where thou mayst, faithful Christian, whilst 
thou art in this world, or when thou leavest it ; 
thou canst not go " where universal love shines 
not around," thou canst not go away from God ; 
thou canst not go where he will not be with thee, 
and delight in thee, and pour out the riches of 
his liberality upon thee ! 

But to return from these reflections on the vast 
extent of the universe, it remains to be observed 
under this head, that the glory of God appears not 
only in the immense extent of the heavens, and in 
the magnitude of the celestial orbs, but also in 
the inconceivable rapidity of their motions. There 
is, even in our own system, a planetary world, 
which proceeds in its course with a speed so vast 
and astonishing, that even thought is unable to 
keep pace with it. — -Since the commencement 
of the present hour, now near its close, it has 



by the Heavenly Luminaries. 321 

passed through no less a space than upwards of 
40,000 miles. Such is the rapidity of this earth, on 
which we live, in its annual circuit round the sun, 
and equal to this, or even greater, is the velocity of 
some others of the planetary worlds — Measure, if 
thou canst my soul, or own that no finite creature 
can measure, the amazing power that fashioned 
these mighty orbs, or the force that impels them 
in their courses! 

Third. The heavens will reveal to us still 
more of the glory of God, if we attend to the 
constancy and harmony of their motions. 

It was originally a promise of the Creator, and 
it has been graciously fulfilled from the begin- 
ning, that seed-time and harvest, summer, and 
winter, heat and cold, day and night, should not 
fail. As was the first day that shone upon the 
world, so has this day been. As was the first 
night that overshadowed it, so will the night 
that is approaching, be. One year, like every 
other year, is made up of seasons, regularly and 
uniformly interchanging. The aspect of the hea- 
vens, and the appearance of the earth, at any 
given period, has exactly answered to their as- 
pect and appearance in any other corresponding 
period, from this day backwards, through six 

Y-4 



32$ On the Glory of God, as displayed 

thousand years, to the birth day of our world ! 
And, what is true of this world for that period, is 
doubtless true of ten thousand other worlds; for 
a period perhaps ten thousand times as long. 

What an argument is here of an allwise, al- 
mighty, and all gracious Providence ; continually 
presiding over the worlds that he has made; ac- 
tuating, directing, controlling, and governing all 
their revolutions ! If at any one moment, their 
beauty, their order, and their magnificence, be a 
demonstration that they are the creatures of un- 
erring wisdom; the perpetuity of that magnifi- 
cence, of that order, and of that beauty, is a de- 
monstration equally clear, of the constant agency, 
and providence of God. 

"Whence is it that the sun never has mistaken 
its rising, nor the moon her going down ? Whence 
is it that the seasons have never been inverted 
nor confused I Whence is it that night has always 
come at its expected period to the repose of the 
weary labourer? Whence is it that the harvest, 
never has forgotten to ripen that seed, which the 
spring invited the industrious husbandman to sow? 
In the heavenly orbs, whence do the vicissitudes 
of day and night, and of the seasons, flow ? 
there is in them no memory, no reason, no intelli- 



by the Heavenly Luminal us. 329 

gence ; they move as they are impelled, and have 
no other powers or influences than those that are 
imparted to them, or impressed upon them, by a 
foreign hand ; by the energy of an omnipresent 
spirit : it is to the glory, therefore, of that omni- 
present spirit, that they shine; In all their changes 
they obey his will, and in all their revolutions 
they manifest his wisdom and his goodness. It 
is because he changes not, that the order which 
was first established, is not inverted or invaded ; 
" all things continue unto this day according to 
" his ordinances, because all are his servants." 

But again. It is not only the constancy and 
regularity of the heavenly revolutions that de- 
clare the glory of God ; his glory is still farther 
illustrated by their perfect harmony and agree- 
ment. The host of heaven is innumerable ; mil- 
lions of worlds are continually moving with infi- 
nite rapidity through the immeasurable space 
that lies around us ; whence is it that they prove 
so faithful to their courses, that they never wander 
from their own proper path, that they never in- 
terfere with each others circuit, that no concus- 
sions or convulsions happen, and that the benefits 
which they are intended mutually to impart, are 
never intercepted or defeated? In many instances 



e 



330 On the Glory of God, as displayed 

their paths cross each other, whence is it that no 
mischiefs come to pass ? Let one world only, 
arrive a little sooner or a little later at a certain 
point, and how tremendous would be the ruin 
that would ensue ! 

Fourth. The Heavens will reveal to us still 
more of their Creator's glory, if we attend to the 
utility of the heavenly bodies, and of their motions. 

No one can be insensible of the innumerable 
blessings we derive from the agency of that glo- 
rious luminary, of which the Psalmist so beauti- 
fully says, that " God hath set a tabernacle for 
ct him in the heavens." It is evident to all, that 
the sun is the great source of our light and heat. 
Without light, the face of nature would be one 
universal blank — all would be gloom, discomfort, 
suspicion, and dismay. The various 1 beauties 
with which the face of nature is adorned, of such 
efficacy to delight the heart of man, and to deli- 
neate his Creator's excellence, would then have 
been bestowed in vain : they could not have ad- 
ministered either to the pleasure or instruction, 
of the children of men, or have discovered any 
thing of their Creator's excellence. Confined, 
as must then have been their knowledge and 
improvement, if indeed their very existence in 



by the Heavenly Luminaries. 331 

such circumstances could have been preserved, 
what would have been the intricacy and con- 
fusion of their affairs ? what utter strangers must 
they have been to those things most intimately 
connected with them, and which are, at the same 
time, most delightful, and most important to their 
welfare? So unfavourable, indeed, would have 
been a situation like this, to the moral character 
and moral conduct of men, that without the hope 
of an approaching dawn, without the expectation 
of better things to comb, life, in this condition, 
could hardly have been esteemed a blessings — » 
So miserable and so fatal would have been the 
consequences, if we had been deprived of those 
cheering rays, which manifest at once the beauties 
and the wonders with which we are surrounded ! 

If again that glorious luminary should with- 
hold his heat, if the genial warmth that he im- 
parts to all things here below, were intercepted, 
or, if our Almighty Maker had not provided for 
us so constant and convenient a source of vital 
warmth and comfort, the earth had been con- 
gealed into one solid and inseparable mass ; no 
fluids would have circulated through the globe, 
or through the animal or vegetable system ; and 
those motions and revolutions on which every 
Jcind of life depends, would have stood still. 



332 On the Glory of God, as displayed 

Day and night would then have had no distino 
tion, but that of light, and the want of light; 
and the seasons would have brought no changes, 
but what consisted in their different proportions 
to each other of day and night ; so useful and so 
necessary are the solar beams to enlighten and to 
animate this world of ours ; so necessary to the 
comfort, as well as to the preservation of its va- 
rious inhabitants. 

Yet various and unspeakably great as are the 
blessings we derive from the light and heat of 
the sun ; perpetual day would not be a blessing, 
The interchanges of day and night, are not only 
agreeable in themselves for their variety, useful 
for the different displays they exhibit of the 
Creator's wisdom and power, the one necessary to 
action, the other friendly to repose, but to these 
also ? to the regular return of evening cold, as well 
as of daily warmth, we are indebted for those 
dews and rains that are the refreshment and the 
nourishment of the vegetable kingdom, without 
which, the earth would be parched into dust and 
ashes. 

These are a mere specimen, two or three select 
instances out of a thousand that might be col- 
lected, of the benefit we derive from the presence, 

aijd the absence of the sun, 



bj/ the Heavenly Luminaries, 333 

If again we turn our thoughts to the vicissi- 
tudes of the seasons, another benefit which we 
derive from the great lamp of day ; we shall have 
a new instance of the Creator's goodness in the 
utility of this constitution. Admitting that in it- 
self some one of the seasons may appear more de- 
sirable than another, yet each has its peculiar bene- 
fits and beauties ; and a regular alternation by pro- 
ducing a combination of all their blessings, is more 
desirable than the unvaried continuance of any 
one season. 

If we had continually been indulged with the 
pleasures and the benefits of summer, the other 
side of the globe must have been frozen in eternal 
winter. Nor should we have had any cause to 
rejoice in the indulgence long; for, as all the sea- 
sons are accommodated to the service and the 
constitution of mankind, so likewise are they 
adapted one unto another. If continual winter 
were to prevail, the productions of the earth 
would not suffice for the subsistence of a very 
small part of those that now live comfortably upon 
it ; and if, on the contrary, it were continually 
teeming with the profusion of summers fruits 
and herbage, all care and forethought, and pn> 
bably in great measure, all industry and activity, 



334 On the Glory of God, as displayed 

on the part of man, would be precluded, to the 
great detriment both of his body and mind. The 
gifts of the Almighty would be vainly lavished in 
a measure far exceeding the wants of his crea- 
tures, and in a manner much unbecoming the 
wisdom of the bes tower The winter, not only 
seasonably causes the earth to cease from her la- 
bours, when she has sufficiently supplied the ne- 
cessities of her inhabitants, but -A the same time 
brings along with it those circumstances, which 
renew her strength, which fertilize her fields for 
future harvests, and enable her from time to time to 
administer again to their returning wants. In 
continual winter, therefore, there would be a per- 
petual provision for supplies of fruitfulness, with- 
out any means of exerting this power, and without 
any use or application of this provision, and of 
these supplies; and in continual summer, a per- 
petual exertion, without any renovation of them, 
a constant waste, without any sources of repair. 
The alternation, therefore, of these seasons, be- 
speaks the goodness, as well as wisdom of the 

Creator. 

This sroodness and wisdom is still farther illus- 
trated, in the gradual return of summer and win- 
ter, through the intervening seasons of the au- 



by the Heavenly Luminaries. 335 

tumn, and the spring ; for, passing slowly from 
one extreme to the other, the influence of each is 
more kindly felt by the fruits and productions of 
the earth, and the two extremes take place without 
prejudice ; nay, in fact, with much advantage, to 
the health and comfort of mankind. 

Here again we have another instance of ano- 
ther class of blessings derived unto mankind from 
the various changes, and the different situations of 
that amazing orb which God hath lighted up in 
the heavens, <c for signs and for seasons, for days 
" and for years," 

PRAYER, 

Great and marvellous are thy works, O Lord 
God Almighty, in wisdom hast thou made them 
all! Whither shall we go from thy spirit, or 
whither shall we flee from thy presence ? If we 
ascend up into heaven thou art there— if w r e 
take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the 
uttermost parts of the sea, even there shall thy 
hand lead us, and thy right hand shall hold usl 

O Lord, what is man, that thou art mindful of 
him, or the son of man that thou visitest him — 
what we have wherewith to come before this high 



536 On the Glory of God, 5Cc. 

God, or what are we that we should take upon 
us to address so great and glorious a Being ! 

We owe it to thy guardian care, that day and 
night, seed-time, and harvest, fail not. — These 
blessings of thy providence thou scatterest with a 
liberal hand upon all thy creatures — wherever we 
turn our eyes, we behold the most wonderful 
displays of Almighty power, unerring wisdom 
and never-failing goodness ; and every moment 
that we contemplate thy gracious appointments 
we have new and convincing evidence, that the 
God we serve is love. 

O God, our unthankfulness in the midst of so 
many mercies; our unfruitfulness in the midst of 
so many privileges; our transgressions which we 
have multiplied against so many awful obliga- 
tions, and against so much endearing tenderness, 
fill our hearts with the most painful reflections 
and the most distressing apprehensions, and might 
totally have discouraged our hope in thee, were 
it not for the graceous assurance in the gospel of 
Christ, that with thee there is mercy, and that 
with our God there is plenteous redemption, 



( 337 ) 

DISCOURSE XXI. 

ON THE GLORY OF GOD, AS MANIFESTED IN THE 
HEAVENLY LUMINARIES. 

PART III. 
Psalm xix. i. 

THE HEAVENS DECLARE THE GLORY OF GOD, AND THE 
FIRMAMENT SHOWETH HIS HANDY WORK. 

In the preceding Discourses on this subject, I 
have endeavoured to point out, first, how strikingly 
the glory of God is manifested in the external ap- 
pearance of the heavens ; secondly, in the mag- 
nitude of the heavenly bodies, and the rapidity 
with which they move ; thirdly, in the constancy 
and harmony of their motions ; and, fourthly, in 
their important influence on cmr welfare and our 
happiness. Here, our first attention having been 
naturally attracted by that glorious luminary, 
which is at once the source of our light and 
heat, I would now suggest a few thoughts 
on the benefits derived from the lunar light 

Z • 



$2S On the Glory of God> as manifesfei 

Passing over those which are most obvious, and 
which we experience when obliged to prolong 
our labours beyond the decline of day, I would 
merely remark its extreme importance to those, 
whose night continues not merely for a few hours,, 
but who are deprived of the cheering influence of 
the sun,, for weeks and for months. In these 
drear} 7 regions of our globe, not indeed very po- 
pulous, yet not altogether destitute of inhabitants^ 
if some kind provision were not made to en- 
lighten them, during so long an interval, it is easy 
to imagine in how uncomfortable a manner both 
themselves and their affairs would be affected. 
But God is the common father of mankind, 
and his tender n&ercies are over all his works. 
The motions of the moon therefore are wonder- 
fully and graciously extended beyond the limits 
of the sun's course, that during so long an 
absence of that luminary, she may administer 
some light and comfort ts> these dark comers of 
the earth. 

In illustration of the same benignity and 
care of God, it may also be observed here, 
that many* other natural circumstances concur to 
fender this situation more tolerable than we ima- 
gine it ^ so* that although the inhabitants be in- 



in the Heavenly Luminaries. $39 

volved in a much longer night, they know very 
little of that total darkness which so frequently 
characterizes ours. 

It is to the moon principally that we are in* 
debted, for those constant and regular agitations 
of the waters, the air, and of every other fluid, 
whether Upon the surface of the earth or above it, 
which preserves them from stagnating, and pre- 
vents putrefaction ; the inevitable consequence of 
which would be, general pestilence, and universal 
desolation. There are tides also, and from the 
same cause, in the human body, as well as in the 
terraqueous globe, which have secret, but in ge- 
neral very beneficial influences upon the health, 
the comfort, and even upon the rational faculties 
of man. 

Under this article, I will merely superadd 
one observation more ; namely, that the division 
of our time marked out to us by the moon, is 
attended with much convenience to the affairs of 
men. In many instances, the period of a year, 
marked out by the sun, would be too long, espe- 
cially considering the brevity of human life, 
whilst on the contrary, the period of a night, or 
a day, or of both united, would in many other 
instances be too short, 

Za 



340 On the Glory of God, as manifested 

Of all the other worlds and fires that adorn the 
firmament of heaven, I would only make this 
general remark, that although they are at too 
great a distance to afford much light or warmth, 
or to have any direct influences on the earth and 
its inhabitants, like the influences of the sun and 
moon,} er, in respect even of us,they are not merely 
ornaments to the beautiful canopy which the 
hand of God hath stretched out over our heads. 
There are, in some parts of our globe, immense 
plains, without road or path, or any marks or 
means of distinction ; some, uniformly dreary, and 
some, immeasurably wide ■> plains, where thou- 
sands of our fellow-creatures have no other guide 
to direct thein in their migrations, or in their 
visits frorrrone part of the interminable prospect 
to another, but the stars of heaven. These ce- 
lestial luminaries also, are a faithful guide to the 
industrious mariner, through the trackless deserts 
of the ocean ; by them he is enabled to make the 
haven where he would be, and to return in safety 
to his far distant home, instead of being tost 
without knowledge, or without hope, upon the- 
mighty waters: and it is by means of this intercourse, 
that the commerce and communion of mankind, 
which had otherwise been confined to contiguous 



in the Heavenly Luminaries. 341 

countries, or along adjacent shores, is extended 
from one end of the earth unto-the other. By 
means of this intercourse also it is, that great 
improvements are derived to the whole human 
race: that the hearts and minds of men are opened 
to freer thoughts, and more humane sentiments ; 
that their ideas of the great Creator, are enlarged 
and ennobled ; that the policy of governments, may- 
be, hereafter, in all instances, and has been al- 
ready in many instances, made better ; that the 
manners of mankind have been refined and 
softened ; and if some few vices and follies have 
extended their infection, yet the balance upon the 
whole, has been much in favour of human happi- 
ness. The influence of many virtues has been in- 
creased ; true religion, even the knowledge of 
God, and of the Son of God has made an exten- 
sive progress ; and since the way is now opened, 
our expectations aro enlivened and our hopes 
confirmed, that the glorious day of salvation may- 
be hastened, when all the kingdoms of the ea* ih 
shall become the kingdoms of the Lord, and of 
Ins Christ ! 

Such then is the utility of the heavenly lumi- 
i naries, and of their various revolutions, such their 
connection with the affairs of men, and their be- 

£3 



342 On the glory of God, as manifested 

neficial influences upon them ; so loudly do they 
proclaim the glory of that hand by which they were 
formed, and by which also they are moved and 
supported with such inconceivable energy! They 
are as useful as they are magnificent, and form to- 
gether one general chorus employed continually 
in celebrating the high praises of our God ! 

Before I proceed to the next and last divisor* 
of this discourse, allow me to enlarge these 
thoughts, and to extend the conclusion that may 
be drawn from them in demonstration of the divine 
power and goodness, by the following remarks. 

In the first place, all that has been said con- 
cerning the benefits which we derive from the 
sun, the revolutions and the changes of his course, 
is equally true concerning many other worlds to 
which he gives both light and heat, and which, 
like ours, are continually moving round him. 

Secondly, All that has been said concerning 
the benefits we derive from the moon, is true 
concerning our earth, in respect pf that luminary, 
■which is to her, and her inhabitants, a moon, af- 
fording still greater light, and producing similar, 
but much more powerful influences. 

Thirdly, We know that several of these worlds, 
which have the same common source of light and 



lit the Heavenly Luminaries. 343 

heat with ourselves, are, like our world, attended 
■by their respective moons, which of consequence 
.administer unto them the same benefits which we 
receive from ours, and w&ioh derive from the planet 
they attend, the same advantages which our moon 
derives from the world which we inhabit. 

In the fourth place^ From every world 
throughout the universe, the heavens will make 
the same appearance to its inhabitants, that they 
make to us ; and consequently they may afford 
the same benefits to the inhabitants of every 
other world, that they do to the inhabitants of 
this. — Thus, O God, wherever we go, do thy 
works praise thee ; in all worlds do we trace the 
footsteps of thy wisdom^ thy power 3 and thy 
goodness J 

Again, the skill with which the works of God 
are combined together; the harmonious connec- 
tion that is established, and has subsisted for 
ages, unbroken and undisturbed among all the 
various parts of this immeasurable system ; the 
benefits that result from these connexions and 
dependencies, m innumerable instances so strik- 
ing and so extensive, so wonderful, liberal, and 
gracious ; justify, nay demand this conclusion, 
£hat nothing has been made in vain , that even, 

Z4 



344 On the Glory of God, as manifested 

where we cannot see the utility and kindness of 
the works, or the dispensations of the Almighty, 
it is not because they are not useful, it is not be- 
cause they are not kind, but because we want 
the discernment, the penetration, the comprehen- 
sion of mind, or some other necessary assistances 
to discover their real character. Could we see 
with the eye of truth; in every object we behold, 
from the dust of the ground, to the heavens on 
which we gaze with wonder ; from the lowest of 
his creatures, to those who know him best, and 
love him most, and bear the nearest likeness to 
him 3 we should see it written in eternal cha- 
racters, that God is power, and light, and love ! 

In the ear of reason, there are ten thousand 
salutations proceeding from ten thousand times 
ten thousand living creatures, congratulating the 
race of men that they live under the government 
of so great, so kind, and so good a master.— "Re- 
e( joice then in the Lord, O my soul, and all that 
<c is within me praise his holy name !" — Rejoice 
with trembling, O ye sons of men, and think 
what returns ye can render unto him for all his 
benefits ! 

In the last place, I would just add another 
observation on this subject 3 the heavens reveal to 



. zn the Heavenly Luminaries. 345 

us still more of the glory of God, if we consider 
how wonderfully and how kindly their influences . 
and revolutions, are adapted to the frame, and 
to the wants of man. 

Here I would by no means be understood to 
insinuate that the heavens were made for this 
purpose only, that the sun was created for no 
other end than that we might be warmed and en- 
lightened by his beams, or that the moon was ; 
created for no other purpose, than to cheer the 
darkness of our night; or the stars, with no other 
view, than to entertain the eye of man and direct 
him in his course. — The whole race of mortals, 
all that have lived, and all that ever will live, are, 
in the universe of God, as a few grains of sand tq 
the sea shore ! — Let us not conceive that these 
glorious luminaries have not far wider connec- 
tions, and more extensive influences, and more 
important services. But, if amidst these, if amidst 
innumerable other purposes ; if amidst innumer- 
able other services, immeasurable in/ their extent, 
and unspeakable in their importance, the race of 
mortals has not been overlooked or forgotten by 
the great Lord of all ; if, whilst these luminaries 
are accommodating their situation and their revo-* 
l^jjpns to so many nobler ends, they are at 



$46 On the Glory of God , as 77ianifisted 

same time so accommodated to the powers and 
the wants of man, as if created for him alone ; 
this surely is a striking argument of his glory, 
who, whilst he attends to the greatest objects, 
overlooks not the smallest ; who knows how to 
harmonize the interests of all, so that there shall 
fee no discord or interference j and whose paternal 
care and tender mercies, are extended even to 
the least and the most unworthy of his creatures ! 

Of this observation I shall produce but one 
short instance, which will be sufficient fully to 
justify the remark, and may lead our thoughts to. 
many similar reflections. 

It is obvious to observe, that great as is the 
distance between this earth, and the source of its 
light and heat, it is not too great for the faculties or 
the exigencies of its inhabitants. At a greater dis- 
tance, as our globe is now constituted, we should 
have had but a little, comfortless twilight day; the 
obscurity and coldness of which would have es- 
sentially interfered with the business^ security, and 
health of man : we should have had but a faint, 
cheerless summer, too weak to infuse life and 
gladness either into the animal or vegetable crea- 
tion 5 and if not wholly insufficient to raise the 
fruits of the earth into vegetation, at least not 



in the Heavenly Luminaries. S4f 

sufficient to prepare, and to mature them : and 
our nights and winter, would have been exceed- 
ingly noxious and severe. On the other hand, 
had the distance been less, though the winter 
and the night might have been in some degree 
comfortable, yet the summer and the day would 
have burnt with insupportable heat, and have 
blazed with unsufferable splendour. 

I would now close the whole, with the follovv- 
ipg short practical reflections. 

In the first place; we may learn hence by w 7 hat 
means to improve pur knowledge of God and of 
his glory ; viz. by a pious contemplation of his 
creation, and a serious attention to his providence. 
To Christians, the word of God is a sacred rule 
of duty ; and his word commends us to his works, 
if we mean to grow in divine knowledge. The 
beautiful and sublime imagery of the ancient pro- 
phets show th^m to have been devout observers of 
the wonders of creation; and indeed there cannot 
be a stronger argument of insensibility and inde- 
votion, than to live without God, without a 
supreme reverence of his glories ; without atten- 
tion to his presence, when all things around, 
above, within, and beneath us, testify that an 



348 On the Glory of God, as manifested 

Almighty hand created, and an all-gracious arm 
perpetually supports them ! 

■Continually in the temple of the Lord, shall I 
be, and habitually unmindful of the divinity that 
resides there ? Shall the Psalmist celebrate the 
beauties and the pleasures of a little local temple 
built by human art, the fruit of man's device, 
and which long ago has perished, as its founder 
perished; shall the Psalmist celebrate a little local 
earth-built temple,becauseit.was consecrated unto 
God, and because his worship was performed there, 
and shall our souls pay no regard, lend no atten- 
tion, to that infinite and eternal temple whose 
builder, and whose maker is God ? Look up to the 
innumerable worlds that revolve around us — with 
what nobler ideas, and sublimer sentiments ought 
not we to adopt the language of the king of 
Israel, saying unto him whose transcendent glory 
they manifest, O how amiable are thy taberna- 
cles, O Lord of Hosts, our King and our Cod ! 

Nor, is the pious contemplation of the works of 
God recommended only by the example of the 
Psalmist : Jesus, the author and finisher of our 
faith, was a studious observer, as well as a zealous 
preacher of divine providence, and a devout coi> 



in the Heavenly Luminaries. 349 

templator of his father's works. If a sparrow 
fall to the ground, it is not without his heavenly 
father \ if the fowls of the air are feeding in his 
sight, they are feeding on his Father's bounty ; if 
the lilies of the field adorn the seene that rs before 
him, it is the hand of God that clothed them, 
and perfumed them with an odour and a 
splendour which no efforts of human art, which 
no sumptuousness of imperial magnificence, can 
equal. 

A more rational entertainment no man can 
devise; a more edifying employment no man can 
conceive, than the serious and religious study of 
the works and ways of God, It is an entertain- 
ment that may be enjoyed in some considerable 
degree by the lowest capacities, if there be but 
the ability to observe and to reflect, It is 
employment that may be made consistent with 
every other occupation, at any hgw, and in any 
scene, 

Again, To survey every living object we be - 
hold, as the creature of him who made ourselves., 
and the various events of life as proceeding from 
the decree of God ; to consider them in this light, 
will consecrate the most trivial occurrences into 
a sacrifice of praise, and raise those pleasures. 



350 Vn the Glory of God, as manifested 

which had otherwise been no more than mere 
animal sensations, or mere amusements of the 
imagination, into the noblest, the most edifying^ 
the most satisfactory, and the most worthv, of 
which humanity is capable. 
. The Psalmist spake nothing more than the lan- 
guage of nature and experience; when he said ; 
w that the works of the Lord are great, to all those 
" by whom they are sought out; giving pleasure." — - 
The devout contemplation of them, exceedingly 
expands and improves the mind \ corrects the desire 
for all baser pleasures; and while it renders us less 
vulnerable to the temptations of this present state, 
we are thereby fitted and prepared for the more 
noble employments, and spiritual attainments of 
that which is to come, — By means such as these, 
the interests of piety cannot fail to be promoted ; for 
what heart, accustomed attentively to contemplate 
the immensity of creation, can be so insensible 
as not to stand in awe of him who is punctually 
obeyed byten thousand times ten thousand worlds; 
and to whom the universe, and every being in 
it, owes its existence, and who has every heart 
and every hand in his control ? What soul is 
there so obdurate, as not to feel, with the most 
fervent emotions of gratitude and love, that be- 



in Hit Hea-venty Luminaries. 351 

nevolence of God that is as wide as infinitude it- 
self, and as stable as his own eternity ? What 
soul is there so fearful and so discontented, as 
not to resign its apprehensions and solicitudes, 
and commit itself with cheerful confidence to 
that God, who, if his works and his providence 
may be trusted, knows all the wants of all his 
subjects, and pities the distresses even of the 
meanest creature he has formed ? 

What is there that can dilate our hearts into 
purer, or more fervent sentiments of charity and 
love, than to range through the boundless ocean 
of our Creator's mercies 5 — What is there so 
favourable to the sentiments of genuine humility 
as to send out our thoughts to the universe of God, 
in comparison of which, the world we inhabit is 
but as a particle of dust, and ourselves as an atom 
of that dust. 

Lastly. From what has been said upon this 
subject we may form a probable conjecture, con- 
cerning a part at least, of our employment in a 
future state of perfect virtue and of perfect hap- 
piness. 

Here we see little of the works of God ; yet 
the little that we do see, conveys to us the purest 
and most sublime pleasure. We perceive an im- 



352 Oil the Glory of God, as manifested 

mensity behind, undiscovered and unknown, ex- 
cept that such an immensity exists. — What more 
probable, than that it should form a part of our 
future recompense and happiness, in union with 
each other, to trace the Creator's footsteps, in 
this and other worlds, and to pursue the mani- 
festations of his glories, through immensity, and 
to eternity, without limit and without end ! 

A nobler, or more pleasurable employment, we 
can hardly desire or conceive—yet a nobler and 
more pleasurable employment we have reason to 
hope for, and expect what means the transport- 
ing promise that we shall then see God ? not 
" through a glass darkly 5" not only by reflection 
in the mirror of his works, but immediately, and 
even face to face ! — Blessed state ! Extatic ex- 
pectation 1 Who would lose it ! Who, my friends,, 
would not earnestly " press toward the mark, 
<c for the prize of the high calling of God, in 
" Christ Jesus !" 

PRAYER. 

O Lord God Almighty, before the mount- 
ains were brought forth, or ever thou hadst 
formed the foundations of the world, from ever- 
lasting to everlasting thou art God, and thy do- 



m the Heavenly Luminaries. 3 $3 

minion is from generation to generation. Thou 
art the same, yesterday, to day, and for ever ! 

O Lord, when we consider the heavens the 
work of thy fingers ; when we behold the 
spacious firmament which thou hast stretched 
out above us ; when we see the sun which thou 
hast appointed to rule the day, shining in his 
strength ; or the moon which thou hast directed 
to keep watch by night, walking in her bright- 
ness ; when we attempt to count that starry host 
with which the heavens are adorned ; our hearts 
are overpowered with the most lively and awful 
conviction, that thou art great, and thy name 
great, and that the understanding of our God is 
infinite ! 

Raise us, we beseech thee, into that happy 
State of mind, and keep us for ever in it, in 
which it shall be our chief delight to do thy 
will. May we be continually aspiring after new 
improvements in the Christian character ; may we 
never think that we are already perfect ; but for- 
getting the things that, are behind, and reaching 
forward to those that are before, may we press 
forward towards the mark, for the prize of the high 
calling of God, in Christ Jesus.— As we draw 

A a 



354 On the Glory of God, tfc. 

nearer unto heaven, may we become more 
heavenly minded, more like those pure and holy 
spirits who reside there, and more meet to be 
partakers with them, in their employments and 
their happiness. 

Now unto the King eternal, immortal, invisi- 
ble God, only wise, be glory and majesty, do- 
minion and power, both now and ever. Amen! 



( 355 } 



DISCOURSE XXII. 

ON THE USE AND IMPROVEMENT TO EE DE- 
RIVED FROM SEVERE ILLNESS. 

John xi. 4. 

THIS SICKNESS IS NOT UNTO DEATH, BUT FOR THE GLORY 
OF GOD *. 

It is the duty of every christian Minister, for it is 
the duty of every man, to extract whatever good 
he can extract, from every thing that befalls, 
either himself or them. All the dispensations of 
Divine Providence contain in them the wisest 
instructions, and may be made productive of the 
kindest influences, to promote our best interests, 
to enhance our present consolations, and to en- 
rich our heavenly inheritance. We cannot neg- 
lect them, but to our injury ; who then c< is a 
" wise man among you," let him show forth his 

* Composed and preached on recovery from a nervous fever, 
in the year 1783, in which the Author had been confined to his 
bed several weeks, and his life had been despaired of, many days. 

A a 2 



356 On the use and improvement to 

wisdom in strenuous exertion to derive from 
every afflictive event, the important counsel it is 
capable of suggesting, and to profit from the 
wholesome discipline which it may administer. 

You all know the occasion that first led my 
thoughts to the portion of Scripture I have read 
to you. — You also, " are in the body perpetu- 
ally exposed to sickness, pain, and death ; and it 
was my desire to assist you in the just improve- 
ment of such dangers and of such deliverances as 
I had myself experienced, to the melioration of 
your hearts, and therefore, to the honour of 
your Maker, 

It may be, that you have had experience of 
such situations, and if so, it is an incumbent duty, 
tenderly to cherish the remembrance, both of the 
affliction, and of the salvation ; for they still re- 
main with you in their results, as talents to be 
acknowledged, occupied, and improved.— It is 
possible that you have not yet experienced such 
situations; but it is by no means improbable, 
that hereafter you may; and in that case, before- 
hand to have reflected on the benefits to be de- 
rived from them, and the improvements to which 
they may be made subservient, will enable you 
to derive those benefits with greater certainty, and 



be derived from severe illness. Sit 

In more abundance, and to make that improve- 
ment with greater accuracy, and with more ac- 
ceptance and success, when the hour of trial 
shall come. — Such previous meditation, upon 
subjects so interesting, properly pursued, and re- 
peated at well-chosen intervals, will render us 
more attentive to the actual impressions when they 
do arrive ; more able to apprehend and feel the 
general dictates and demands of such visitations, 
and more capable of distinguishing those influ- 
ences of them to which we ought to yield our 
hearts, from those, which it equally behoves us 
to resist. 

From these motives, and with these objects in 
view, my thoughts were led to the text before 
us ; it is not my intention to consider it as con- 
nected with the history of Lazarus, but only to 
observe to you; 

1st. How those sicknesses which are not unto 
death, are in themselves, and of necessity, to the 
glory of God - y and 

2dly. How the real christian, whilst he re- 
joices in these necessary displays of divine glory^ 
will exert his own voluntary endeavours also^ 
that both his dangers, and his deliverances, may 
redound still further to the glory of God. 

Aa 3 



353 On the Use and Improvement to 

In the first place ; those sicknesses that termi- 
nate not in death, are of necessity to the glory of 
God. I mean not to assert, that there is any 
thing peculiar in them to the exclusion of those 
sicknesses which do terminate in death : for every 
thing is to the glory of God; sickness as well 
as health ; pain, as well as pleasure ; death, as 
well as life ; evil, as well as good; all are to his 
glory. Throughout the whole universe of God, 
there is not a being that exists, nor an event that 
comes to pass, which is not to his glory : that is 
to say, there is not in the whole universe, a be- 
ing, or an event, which, to a mind capable of 
comprehending, the nature, the causes, and the 
purposes of Its existence, together with the con- 
nections, the influences, and the results ; which 
does not strikingly exhibit the perfections of its 
Author, and dispose every such spectator, to all 
the blessed sentiments and genuine expressions,, 
of veneration, love, and joy. 

Placing our subject in this light, we can hardly 
fail immediately to perceive some rays of the 
divine glory in those sicknesses that are not unto 
death, and it will not be difficult, so to direct our 
meditations, as to open wider views of the divine 
excellencies, and more abundant causes of devout 
affection in these visitations of God r s providence. 



be derived from Severe Illness, 359 

Go into the sick man's chamber, you will find 
him, it may be, extended on his bed; not in soft 
and gentle slumbers, the restorers of exhausted 
nature, but tossing to and fro in painful and tu- 
multuous vigils - y or bound down in unconquerable 
death-like somnolency. You may find there, 
perhaps, even in the noon of life, the manly 
vigour, which, not many days ago, was actively 
and ardently engaged in innocent, honourable, 
and useful occupations, sunk into oppressive lan- 
guor, or dissolved, even, into infant weakness $ 
heaving the breath that is not to be reached ; in- 
effectually attempting, even the easiest exer- 
tions — the springs of life which lately flowed 
with such force and freedom, baffled in their 
course : with embarrassed, interrupted, laborious, 
failing efforts, struggling to keep up the vital 
current, and intimating, that they cannot do it 
long ! You might find there, perhaps, the sensa- 
tions which lately were so acute and lively, slow 
and obscure, and nearly extinct. The ideas 
that were lately so clear and vivid, broken, con- 
fused, and blotted out. The understanding, that 
lately was employed with just discernment in the 
pursuit of truth, or in the business of the world, 

A a 4 



260 On the Use and Improvement to 

confounded, deranged, distracted; one while 
overpowered by vast, and dark, and awful imagi- 
nations ; another while, dissipated in the lightest, 
wildest, and most extravagant conceptions; its 
owner knowing nothing of the scene around him, 
unacquainted with his best friends, and a stranger 
in his own house f 

From such circumstances, the next step is 
usually into the grave : yet sights like these are 
sometimes seen, in sicknesses that are not unto 
death. Who does not perceive in them the de- 
monstrations of that awful Power that can stop 
the wheels of life whenever seemeth to him good; 
that can crush the firmest fabric ; that can blight 
the fairest prospects; that can darken the 
brightest day ; that can keep us living, and, in any 
degree he pleases, sensible to the anguish of such 
life ; in the midst of dying circumstances that 
can pain us at every avenue of our bodies, and 
distress us in every faculty of our minds. How 
fearful is that Power ! how necessary is its friend- 
ship ! how forcibly do such scenes inculcate it 
upon us, to consider our dependence, and to own 
it, and to stand in awe of God ? 

But, though the language which such a situa- 
tion addresses to the ear of reason, is full of aw- 



be derived from Severe Illness. 36 1 

ful and terrific images, yet . it is not terror only 
that it inspires. When we cast our eye into 
scenes of pain and sickness, if we see not there 
so much of the goodness, as of the power of God, 
yet we catch some glimpses of the divine benig- 
nity: for it can hardly fail to meet our thoughts, 
that these are not the ordinary circumstances of 
mankind. If sometimes, when need be, we are 
for a season, now and then in heaviness, yet how 
much more numerous are our days of health, acti- 
vity, and joy? The remembrance of these happy 
days, may well silence discontent, and enkindle 
gratitude on the bed of pain and languishing 5 
and even there, the well-formed mind can derive 
comfort to itself, and feel its joy in God, from the 
reflection, that at all times the sick are, compa« 
ratively few^ the great body of mankind, easy, 
vigorous^ and happy. To an imagination that is 
at all at liberty to contemplate them, scenes of 
sickness and mortality, suggest their contraries, 
vivacity, and health. While the cloud is hanging 
over you, it may intercept, from the spot you 
occupy, some rays of the divine benignity, and 
may cool your accustomed triumph in the go- 
vernment of God : yet even then, if you will ex- 
tend your view beyond your chamber, or your 



362 On the Use and Improvement to 

house, you will have all around you, a wide and 
cheering prospect ; chequered it may be with 
here and there a cloud, like that which is passing 
over you, but for the most part, enlightened and 
enlivened with the brightest splendours of divine 
liberality and goodness. 

Such contemplations, even sickness can sug- 
gest to alleviate the weight with which it presses 
on us, and to glorify that God, to whose grace, 
our visitation, and pain, and languor, are to be 
ascribed; who apprehends no attainder of his 
character from any thing he commands or does, 
whose own language of his own conduct is, ee I 
" form the light and create darkness ; I make 
" peace and create evil ; I the Lord do all these 
things/' 

In this manner, and in many others which it 
were easy to enumerate, does sickness, whatever 
be its termination, whether death, or renewed 
life, glorify God its author. And if affliction glo- 
rifies him, how much more, deliverance from 
affliction ? If sickness is the means or the occa- 
sion of exhibiting unto us the excellencies of his 
nature and his character ; to our feeble eyes and 
contracted views, how much more directly and 
more manifestly are they displayed, in the heal- 



be derived from Severe Illness. 363 

Ing of our diseases, and the renovation of our 
frame. 

When, in the example of a friend, we con- 
template the progress of disease, advancing from 
one degree of power to another, till at length, 
nature, no longer able to maintain the unequal 
conflict, sinks down oppressed and overwhelmed ; 
our heart-achs grow with the growing danger ; 
till, at last, perhaps, our faith fails us : While 
we speak in vain to the ear that hears not, or the 
understanding that apprehends not ; while we 
look with wishful anguish on the pallid counte- 
nance, and watch with anxious solicitude the 
ebbing breath ; it seems, as if there were but a 
moment to the fatal termination. While indeed, 
there is life, there is hope ; but in a state like 
this, we dare not indulge it. — By what unknown 
springs should that oppressive load be shook off? 
by what means can that retiring spirit be re- 
called? — What a journey! long, insupportable* 
impracticable ? through all the stages that led to 
this awful scene, what a journey ! How impossi- 
ble to travel back again, to the height from which 
he is fallen ! — If, notwithstanding all this fear, 
and doubt, and unbelief, that height be again re- 
gained - 3 if the transformation actually takes place 



364 On the Use and Improvement to 

to which our hopes durst not, or, perhaps, could 
not extend ; if the dying friend, does not die } 
if, returning from the grave, where he was going 
down, he be reinvested in his strength, his reason, 
and activity ; his connections, about to be dis- 
solved, kindly renewed, and those offices, by him 
to have been done no more, resumed; in reflect- 
ing upon such events, how impossible is it for the 
thoughtful mind to overlook what they exhibit 
of his glory, who is the God of our lives, the 
length of our days, and the dispenser of all our 
circumstances ! 

What power! to commission the ministers of 
death, to bring down their victim, to the very 
edge- of the -grave, and in the moment when their 
triumph is about to be complete, to control their 
operations, and reverse them! What skill ! to lay 
no less, and yet, to lay no more upon a feeble 
mortal, than what he is able to bear. What 
wisdom ! so exactly to accommodate, the nature, 
the force, the extent, the continuance of disease, 
to the power of sustaining, resisting, and sur- 
mounting it, as that it shall stop short of nothing, 
but the extinction of the one last spark of life, and 
shall do all, but extinguish it ! 

What kindness ! to restore to endeared connec- 



be derived from Severe Illness. 365 

lions, to enlivened hopes, to improved comforts, 
to accustomed services, to unfinished projects, 
to new opportunities and increased motives of 
cultivating the affections of the Christian cha- 
racter, of adding to the treasures we have laid 
up in heaven, and of abounding still more and 
more, in all good works ! 

To whom are resurrections such as these to 
he ascribed? Whose power, whose wisdom, 
whose goodness, do they display ? Shall we im- 
pute them to that self-rectifying principle which 
shows itself so manifestly in every part of nature, 
and not least in the human frame ? But who 
gave to this exquisite machine that self-rectifying 
power, and who is it wards off that fatal period, 
that insurmountable disorder, which this principle 
cannot rectify or survive ? Shall they then be im- 
puted to the anxious and unweared care of af- 
fectionate and faithful friends ? Whose gift are 
friends ? in whose hands are their breath ? By 
whom are their views directed, and their powers 
supported ? Who places them upon the scene in 
which we need their help, and at the time in 
which we need it \ Shall these resurrections be 
ascribed to the assiduity, fidelity, and skill of the 
physician ? To whom does he owe his faculties, 



56 G On tfie Use and Improvement to 

and the preservation of them? From whose store- 
houses is he furnished with the remedies that he 
applies ? By whose kind disposals is it, that in 
the moment of critical necessity he is present to 
apply them, in number, weight, and measure ? 
God, my friends, God is all in all ; without him 
nothing is. t Who/ says the prophet, * who is he 
6 that sayeth and it cometh to pass, when the 
' Lord commandeth it not ?' All other agents are 
his instruments, of his making, and of his em- 
ploying. 

The voluntary instruments of his mercy, are 
undoubtedly entitled to our gratitude, and our 
hearts are unahk to withhold it. While from just 
and proper principles, these agents accomplish 
the purposes of divine Providence, they manifest 
their own worth, at the same time that they con- 
tribute to the display of the divine excellencies. 
But surely, whatever wisdom, power, or good- 
ness the works of nature, or the events of life ex- 
hibit, they must be properly and peculiarly to his 
glory, of whom, and through whom, and to whom, 
are all things. In tracing the causes of events, 
how can our reason rest till it reach him who is 
the Father of our spirits, and the former of our 
bodies, and the conciliator of our friendships j 



be derived from Severe Illness. 361 

the light of every understanding, and the strength 
of every arm ? 

Let us see God, my friends, wherever he is ; 
i. e. in every atom of the universe, and in every 
event of life. How joyful is the thought, that in 
him we live, and move, and have our being ! 
What a comfort in the prospect of long con- 
tinued life y what a source of firmness, and tran- 
quillity in the view of impending death ! 

Wherever he reveals his glory, whether in our 
own circumstances, or in of those of others, thither 
let our eyes be turned ; let our contemplations 
dwell upon the scene, till we have imbibed all 
the instructions it unfolds, and conceived all the 
salutary sentiments it is capable of inspiring. 

If pain and sickness speak to us of the awful 
sovereignty, or suggest to us the general 
benignity of God ; if they enliven the conviction 
of our own impotence and dependence, with 
that of his patience and his power ; though they 
be our own pains and sicknesses, or theirs who 
are dear to us as ourselves $ while they are pre- 
sent, let us not turn away from the contemplation 
of them 3 and when they are over, let us not 
relax our exertions to retain a just and lively 
sense of the salutary impression. 



StS On the Use and Improvement to 

If redemption from the hand of the grave 
bespeaks the power, and skill, and mercy, of its 
author, in such events let us accustom ourselves 
to observe and to consider the striking exhibition 
of divine grace : let us compare the renewed, 
with the expiring man, and suffer not ourselves 
to neglect such monuments of the divine glory, 
even though it were in the instance of a stranger 
or an enemy. 

The sicknesses which do terminate in death, 
no less than those from which we recover, no 
doubt are also to the glory of God. When that 
event is past, when we view it in its true light, 
and. from the proper point of view, we shall see, 
I trust, and triumph in the conviction, that our 
death was to the glory of God. 

In the mean time, if, through the disadvan- 
tages of our present circumstances, or the imper- 
fection of our present faculties, we see, or seem 
to see, more of God in the light of life, than in 
the valley of the shadow of death ; in the restora- 
tion to interrupted duties and enjoyments, than 
in sable funerals and silent graves; hard must 
be the heart which has experienced such deliver- 
ances, and conceived from them no devout af- 
fection. 



be derived from Severe Illness. 369 

For the present, to conclude. Let us keep a 
serious eye upon the current of divine Providence, 
and upon every event that we meet with or befalls 
us, let us inquire what it has to say of our duty, 
or of God's glory. Let fidelity, gratitude, and 
cheerful confidence in God, sanctify our cha- 
racter. Whether he wounds, or heals ; whether 
he sends us to the grave, or calls us back from 
thence ; let us say, " even so Father, for so it 
<e seemeth good in thy sight." — When the hand 
of God lies heavy on you, still remember that it 
is God's hand ; and when he lifts you up again^ 
let your songs ever be of him, and your prayer 
unto the God of your lives * ! 



*The above Sermon, and the two following, unlike the others 
contained in this volume, not being suited to general use, the 
Editor could not, in like manner, add a prayer for general use. 
She has however, as it happened to be inserted at the end of the 
Sermon, subjoined that, with which the Author closed this ser= 
vice, apprehending that there are minds, to whom it will be inte- 
resting ; and she has also, with like views, added the psalm selected 
by him on the same occasion. It was not usual with him to keep 
a diary, but the date is here subjoined, viz. February 23, 1783, 
to which is added the following Memorandum. " The first time 
c( of preaching after a very long illness, from the midst of 
" October, perhaps from an earlier date, but laid aside from all 
<: public service from the middle of November last. Great com- 
e * fort and much delight of heart, in the duties of this day." 

Bb 



370 



On the Use and Improvement to 



PRAYER. 

O Tkou, who killest and makest alive ; who 
woundest, and who healest, accept the devout 
thanksgivings of those whom thou hast recalled 
from the gates of death, and brought back this 
day into thine house to serve and magnify thee, 
their preserver and deliverer ! 

It was thine hand that humbled, and that laid 
them low ; and it was the same almighty arm that 
rescued them from the impending danger. It is 
having obtained help from God that they con- 
tinue hitherto, and of his great mercy that they 
are so far restored to the full enjoyment of reason, 
of health, and of strength ! 

Go on, O Lord, if it be thy will, to perfect 
that which thou hast begun-, and grant that while 
their days are prolonged,, they may be prolonged 
In usefulness and comfort. 

Thou, O God, hast all hearts m thine hands ; 
r their earnest supplications, that no time may 
impair their sense, either of the deliverance or of 
the affliction. May both have their proper influ- 
ence upon their temper and demeanour; may they 
live to him by whom they live, and may their 
song ever be of thee, and their prayer unto the 
God of their lives. 



he derived from Severe Illness. 



371 



THE PSALM, 

In life's first dawn,, my tender frame 

Was thy continual care ; 
Long ere I could pronounce thy name, • 

Or breathe an infant's prayer. 

Tho' reason with my stature grew„ 

How feeble was its aid, 
How little of my God I knew, 

How oft from thee I stray'd ! 

Around my path what dangers rose, 
What snares through all the road! 

What could have sav'd me from my foes,, 
But an all-powerful God ? 

Life has hung trembling on a breath, 

And thine unfailing love 
Hath snatch'd me from the stroke of deaths 

And bid my fears remove. 

How many blessings, to thy throne 

Have rais'd my thankful eye ! 
How many passM almost unknown, 

Or unregarded, by ! 



Bbg 



DISCOURSE XXIIL 



OK THE USE AND IMPROVEMENT TO BE DE- 
RIVED FROM SEVERE ILLNESS, 

PART II. 
John xi. 4. 

this sickness is not unto death, but for the glory 

OP GOD. 

You have already seen, in the first place,, how 
those sicknesses of ours, which are not unto 
death, are in themselves, and of necessity for the 
glory of God ; you have seen, how to every intel- 
ligent observer, they do necessarily* and of them- 
selves reveal it. We come now, 

In the second place, to observe, how the good 
man, while he rejoices in these necessary displays 
of the divine glory, will exert his own voluntary- 
endeavours also, that his dangers as well as de- 
liverances, may redound still farther to the gloiy 
of God;. 



On tlie Use and Improvement, Ssc. 373 

The good man who has experienced such af- 
flictions, and such deliverances, will not be satis- 
fied with what the events themselves unavoidably 
exhibit of his Maker's glory, his spirit will not 
rest, until he has been the active and voluntary 
instrument of declaring it 5 his heart will prompt 
him upon this, as upon every just occasion, to 
present unto God the sacrifice of praise. 

God is glorified by the cheerfulness of the 
obedience which his servants yield to him, and 
by the fidelity with which they improve his 
talents. The good man therefore, as in every 
scene he will be studious to maintain such a 
temper and demeanour as shall prove that he 
thinks well of the dispensations of Providence ; 
so, in his reflections upon them, he will be studi- 
ous to extract, to lay up in his remembrance and 
to inculcate on his heart, every consideration 
afforded by them, to engage, to encourage and 
support him in the culture of ad good affections, 
and the practice of all good works. 

The Christian cannot rise from the bed on 
whfrch he lately was expiring, but his heart will 
vent itself in unfeigned praises and thanksgivings 
unto God. If that last vital spark which was well 
nigh extinguished, be lighted up again into clear 

Bb3 



374 On the Use and Improvement to 

and just conceptions; can such a transformation 
pass upon him, and his heart conceive no gratitude, 
his tongue keep back all praise ? shocked at the 
idea of the indecorum and the baseness of such 
an omission, the well-formed mind will rejoice 
in God, that it has not thus to abhor itself. It 
will feel, that thanks and praise are due for the 
deliverance, and due for the affliction too. He 
will not despise the chastening of the Lord: 
knowing its general intention to be kind, he will 
inquire into its especial meaning. Persuaded, 
that it is only, Cf if need be, that he is in heaviness 
that cs God chasteneth not for hit; pleasure, but 
€e for our profit, that we may be made partakers 
" of his holiness," the Christian will look back 
with satisfaction on the trials he has undergone ; 
and duly humbled under the mighty hand of God ? 
will be sincerely thankful that he has not been 
exempt from the salutary discipline of life. If 
" in the midst of judgment God hath remember- 
6C ed mercy, and if mercy hath rejoiced against 
"judgment," his gratitude will be enkindled in- 
to intenser ardour 5 his joy in the providence of 
God will be more lively ; and those cords of di- 
vine love, which unite him to that infinitely wise 




be derived from Severe Illness. 375 

and tender Parent, will be more straitly drawn, 
and more firmly bound upon his heart. 

It is good for a living man to know what dy- 
ing is : he may have reason to rejoice in the visi- 
tation that set him within sight of death, within 
feeling of that awful situation, as long as he shall 
Jive, and longer. There is no mystery in this lan- 
guage ; it needs no illustration ; all here present, I 
trust, Will readily understand, and assent to it ; 
and will be at least equally ready to concede, that 
life is good j that long life is an unspeakable bles- 
sing, and a blessing which it is the duty of every 
man to seek. It is more talents, and affords more 
improvement ; it is more seed time, and may yield 
a greater harvest 5 it is more discipline, and may 
lead to superior perfection. The good man, 
though he will cheerfully consent to death, when 
the will of God is so, may yet wisely wish, and 
prudently endeavour, to live as long as life can 
be improved by him. A protracted service, 
much usefulness, many trials, a long-continued 
education, if they demand much, do however, 
promise much, and may conduct to a more ho- 
nourable and distinguished recompense. Can 
the good man's heart be sensible of this 5 and feel 
no grateful exultations in returning life ; in ex- 

Bb 4 



376 On the Use and Improvement to 

tended prospects, and reviving hopes ? It cannot 
be ; in all things God will be glorified by him ; 
he will cling to him when he wounds, and tri- 
umph in him, when he heals. Again, 

In respect to any visitation of his providence, 
God is not duly glorified, to the extent of our 
ability or of our duty, merely by our devout ac- 
knowledgments : nor will the good man's heart 
be satisfied until he has applied himself to the 
religious and moral uses which the visitations he 
has experienced may afford, to the glory and the 
praise of God. 

It is to the honour of the King, eternal and 
immortal, that his servants should occupy his ta- 
lents, and not neglect them ; that the subjects of 
his moral government should concur with, and 
not counteract him in the events and purposes of 
his dispensations. Whilst they thereby promote 
their own excellence, they iC show forth his 
<£ praise " and wherever there is a sincere desire 
" that God may be glorified in us y there will 
be, in that mind, a just attention to his provi- 
dences, and a serious solicitude that his purposes 
may not be defeated, but accomplished fully, 
and in their whole extent. The Christian there- 
fore, will not forget the sicknesses that issue not 



be derived from Severe Illness. 377 

in death : he will often recollect the scenes 
through which he passed to the. borders of the 
grave, and in his return from it; and will cherish 
in his remembrance the impressions that they 
made, the convictions they enforced, and the sen- 
timents they excited ; he will frequently renew 
the traces they have left upon his heart; that 
whatever advantages he possessed not the power 
to extract from them while they were present 
with him, he may be enabled, by repeated retro- 
spects, to obtain, and to carry with him through 
the whole of his future life. 

Let me be permitted to illustrate and exempli- 
fy this conduct in a few plain and obvious in- 
stances. 

Christian, if thou hast ever been within sight 
of death, whence, in that hour of trial, didst 
thou derive thy firmness and composure ? What 
was it that enabled thee to yield thyself with 
tranquillity and complacency to the will of God r 
It was thy conscience— thy conscience was thy 
stay. And hast thou never since reflected on the 
cordial comfort, which in that hour of darkness 
it administered ? Dost thou never ask thyself 
what could then have tempted thee to part with 
it ? Once more, at least ? thou wilt have need of 



378 On the Use and Improvement to 

such a friend— dost thou never impress it on thy 
heart, not to part with thine integrity, though 
thou shouldst die ? Hast thou never charged thy- 
self to take thy good conscience with thee, when 
thou shalt next go into the valley of affliction, 
and the shades of death ? — If not, thou hast not 
acted according to thy character, thy profession, 
thy obligation, or thy interest. 

Dost thou remember, Christian, with what 
compassion, in those scenes of death, thou re~ 
flectedst on their case, who were without God, 
and without hope there ? Hovv would thy heart 
have ached and trembled, if thou hadst not trust- 
ed that God would walk with thee, through 
death's dark valley ?— In what light did the di- 
vine Favour then appear? of what unutterable mo- 
ment ! — of what inestimable value ! — rDost thou 
remember, what a wretch thou hadst been with- 
out it ?— How much was it endeared to thee ! 
how much was thy sense of its infinite import- 
ance, quickened and enlarged ! 

Christian, hast thou never seriously retraced 
these sentiments arid convictions ? — never ih ima- 
gination measured back thy steps into that awful, 
vet edifying situation, by which such salutary 
feelings were thus invigorated and magnified? 



be derived from Severe Illness. 319 

Dying, in thine own conception, were thy sen- 
timents so just and lively ?— returned again to 
life, is thy heart grown cold and insensible? Are 
things eternal, thus depreciated and injured ? In 
neglect of such cares and exercises of the mind, 
have its sentiments undergone so deplorable a 
revolution ? — Surely, if it be so, this is not grate* 
ful, it is not reasonable, it is not christian, it is 
not wise. God has a claim upon you for better 
honour ; your own souls have a title to more atten- 
tion : The friends who love you will regret, that 
such advantages to enliven, and to keep for ever 
lively your sense of the divine Favour, should be 
lost upon you : and if they are wise, as well as 
kind, while they lament your folly, they will 
tremble for your safety. Again, 

The near neighbourhood of death is a station 
in which the vanity of this world is most clearly 
seen and felt, and the Christian, whose sincere 
desire it is to honour God, by the just applica- 
tion and improvement of all his dispensations to 
him, will avail himself of the soberer ideas of that 
hour, to correct the more forcible impressions, the 
gayer sentiments, and the inordinate elations 
which we are too ready to admit from the influ- 
ences of this world,* when it stands as it were, 



3 SO On the Use and Improvement to 

nearer to us, in the time of our health, prosperity, 
and hope. 

Christian, it is likely that you have sometimes 
had reason to regret the force with which things, 
seen and temporal, struck you, and to lament the 
faint and ineffectual impression of things invisible 
and eternal. In an hour of serious reflection, you 
see danger to your gcod conscience and your 
good character, and perhaps have actually suffer- 
ed detriment from your inability, or your inatten- 
tion, to keep the proper balance between sense 
and faith. In" this scene of discipline, where the 
world, and the things of it are perpetually pres- 
sing on our senses, incessantly soliciting our at- 
tention, and unavoidably occupying our care, 
such dangers may return again. You would not 
be repeatedly betrayed by any pleasures, or ho- 
nours, or interests of this world to disgrace your 
Christian character : That, you know, would nei- 
ther glorify God, nor comfort you. You would 
be provided, as well as may be, against all seduc- 
tion and surprise. Send back your thoughts then 
into the hour in which you deemed yourselves in 
the near neighbourhood of death. Place your- 
selves in the same scene again, and take up again 
the ideas and affections that were then stirring in 



be derived Jrom Severe Illness. 3S i 

your hearts. At that time, were your affections 
to the world very warm and keen ? Did it then 
appear to you of such vast importance ? Did you 
then congratulate yourselves on the pleasures you 
had enjoyed, on 'the honours you had worn, on 
the acquisitions you had made ? What thought 
you then of the anxiety and eagerness with which 
the things of this world are pursued? What 
thought you of the sacrifices that are so often 
made for the things of this world ? What thought 
you of the differences of the circumstances of 
mankind ? Did it then seem to you of any mighty 
moment in what rank or in what condition the 
human traveller should perform a journey, so ra- 
pid, and so short r Wealth and poverty, affliction 
ana posterity, had lost much of their distinction 
In your mind 5 and from the station which you 
then occupied, the eminences and the vales of 
life, were reduced to a level in your view. To 
you the important thing was 3 that " in simplicity 
sc and godly sincerity, not with fleshly wisdom, 
** but by the grace of God, you had had your 
" conversation in the world." 

And, when in the secret of your breast, your 
heart poured out its warmest wishes for those you 
love, the things of this world were too light to 



382 On the Use and Improvement to 

prompt your intercessions ; and your prayers for 
them were, that their souls might be in health 
and prosper. To undervalue this world, is in- 
gratitude % to overvalue it, is imprudence ; to 
think justly of it, is truth, and it is duty too. In 
this respect to honour God, to judge of this world 
as he judges of it, and to feel ourselves affected 
towards it as he would have us feel, it is needful 
that we sometimes withdraw ourselves whither 
its alluring flatteries will not follow us ; where 
the illusion of a vain imagination will not impose 
upon us ; where the connexion of this world 
with the world to come, will forcibly break in 
upon us, and will cause itself to be attended to. 
and laid to heart. It is in that connexion that 
its value and importance lies ; and whatever 
tends to give justice or vivacity to our concep- 
tions of that connexion, though they be scenes 
of sickness and of death, are scenes in which our 
thoughts should be often conversant. To place 
ourselves in imagination there, may serve us : to 
have occasion of observing what the dying think 
of this world, is an advantage for the adjustment 
of our affections with respect to it, greatly to be 
wished for ; but to have had the superior ad- 
vantage of feeling for ourselves the impressions 

5 



be derived from Severe Illness, 333 

of such a situation, — of knowing experimentally, 
how the world appears to those who have finished 
their career in it, — is, in this view, a favour of 
divine Providence which it becomes us devoutly 
to acknowledge, and which it behooves us, faith- 
fully to improve. 

Of that man on whom the Providence of God 
has let in such striking views of the vanity of this 
world and its pursuits, it is most reasonably ex- 
pected, that he should possess and cultivate the 
spiritual mind : surely his affections towards the 
w T orld, should be calm and temperate ; no pas- 
sion which at all respects it, keen or ardent, ex- 
cept his zeal to improve to the uttermost, the 
period of discipline and education. — Thus he will 
do honour to the conviction that he has^ felt of 
the vanity of present things; and when he stands 
again upon the border of eternity, he will look 
behind him, with modest satisfaction, and before 
him, w T ith humble hope. Again, 

The visitations of which v/e speak, that have 
brought near to death, and have not terminated 
in it, will be applied by the wise and good man, 
in his reflections on the feelings of such times, 
to reduce the over-weenings of self esteem, and 
therefore to quicken him in the culture of the 



384 On the Use and Improvement to 

Christian character, and to animate his delige'nce 
in all the business of life. 

There is no scene so humbling as the bed of 
death. In that solemn light, which the near ap- 
proach of judgment and eternity sheds around 
us, infirmities are apt to look like iniquities - y in 
that awful hour that enlivens the desire, and takes 
from him for ever the power to repair them, there 
is danger that the good man's errors and failings 
should rise up in his imagination to the magni- 
tude of faults and crimes. When the end of 
life is just upon us, it is natural, it is scarcely 
avoidable, to compare its attainments, with its 
length. Short must be the life, or great the at- 
tainments, which upon such a comparison, at 
such an hour, shall not hold forth to the com- 
parer, much cause of humiliation and regret ; op- 
portunities unobserved, neglected, or declined — ■ 
Talents, though not misapplied, nor hid, nor un- 
improved ; yet improved but feebly, coldly, and 
remissly, are not desirable attendants on a dying 
bed - 3 no self-esteem is to be derived from them ; 
in their aspect there in nothing pleasing ; there 
is nothing soothing, nothing elevating in the 
language which they hold. Dejection, it may 
be expected,- will accompany them, and it is 



be derived from Severe Illness . 385 

well, if they do not cast some transient and 
uncomfortable clouds, on " good hope through 
" grace." 

Christian, thy heart is no stranger to such sen- 
timents ; in the hour of devout reflection, how 
often have they intruded on thy repose ! Humi- 
lity, is of the very essence of thy character, and 
when, drawing nigh unto thy Maker in- acts of 
religious contemplation, or of pious homage, it 
is natural that self abasement should spring up 
within thy heart— it may even be, that his S£ dread 
" falleth on thee," and that " his excellency, 
maketh thee afraid 1" — -Yet, I may appeal to you* 
that your humiliations were never more sincere, 
your self-esteem never lowlier, the sense of your 
imperfections never more awakening, and your 
sense of the divine excellencies more overpower- 
ing, if you have ever teen there, than on the bed 
of death. — With what affection was it that you 
then looked through impending death, to instant 
judgment, and an opening eternity ? It was not 
terror terror was forbidden by divine mercy ; 
it was not . confidence, for confidence was re- 
pressed by the awful presence in which you 
were about to appear : — conscious of your own 
littleness and unworthlness, did you cast yourself 

C c 



386 On the Use and Improvement to 

wholly on the goodness and mercy of God ? 
Sentiments like these become a creature such as 
man, towards infinite perfection and unspotted 
holiness, and are highly favourable to, Christian 
diligence and zeal ; yet who that has ever felt 
the tender anguish intermixed with them, would 
prepare more of it against another hour of serious 
self communion, or of approaching death? — Who, 
that on the bed of death, has compared himself 
with his great Exemplar ; his own conduct with 
the law of God ; his temper, with God's dis- 
cipline, and his attainments, with his privileges ; 
who, that from such a situation has ever dwelt 
upon the painful retrospect of his own miscar- 
riages and imperfections, can ever more think 
highly of himself ; or ever more, want motives 
in the future, to repair the past ? 

Christians, cherish the remembrance of every 
scene and of every event which may have re- 
minded you how far you have fallen short of 
the standard, to which your duty, your honour, 
your interest, and your comfort required you 
to aspire. * 

While they are present with you, yield your 
hearts to the penitential sentiments which they 



be derived from Severe Illness. 387 

awaken, for this is one act of honour unto God ; 
but forget not, that in respect of such visita- 
tions, you have not rendered to him all the 
glory due unto his name, till you have pursued 
the dictates and demands of s-uch penitential sen- 
timents, into the faithful correction, and the 
diligent improvement of your hearts and lives. 



( 388 ) 



DISCOURSE XXIV. 

ON THE USE AND IMPROVEMENT TO BE DE- 
RIVED FROM SEVERE ILLNESS. 



PART III. 



John xi. 4. 

THIS SICKNESS IS NOT UNTO DEATH, BUT FOR THE GLORY 
OF GOD. 

You have already seen in what respect and 
in what manner the sicknesses which are not 
unto death, are subservient to the glory of God. 

If we can trust either the judgment of our 
own reason, or the proofs of it exhibited in the 
gospel, benignity and kindness are the highest 
honours of the divine character , and therefore, 
to study the resemblance of God in these ami- 
able excellencies, is to glorify the 'Lord our 
Maker ; and it is manifest to observe ; that 
scenes of oppressive sickness and of impending 



On the Use and Improvement, Kc. $8$ 

death, are capable of yielding much assistance to 
the mind disposed to avail itself of the advantage, 
to enliven and invigorate the kind affections of 
the human heart. 

Friendless and forlorn beyond the common lot 
of men, must be bis, to whom, when such visita- 
tions have deprived him of all self assistance and 
support, they afford not great occasion for much 
gratitude to others. Ungenerous and contracted, 
not yet emancipated from the debasing influence • 
of selfish and envious passions, must that heart 
be, which, amidst its own dangers and afflictions, 
can find no congratulations to present to those 
who are secure and happy : and still harder and 
more unimpressible the spirit, which, whilst it 
feels its own absolute need of pity and assists 
ance, has no compassion to bestow upon its 
brethren in affliction. 

It is the natural tendency of such situations, - 
to invite reflection, to lead our thoughts to those 
who are in like circumstances, and to (draw out 
our hearts towards them. To feel the anguish of 
affliction, from whatever cause it may arise, na- 
turally enlivens and magnifies our ideas of the 
contrary situation ; and, as in the selfish mind it 
may give an indecent ardour and importunity to 



390 On the Use and Improvement to 

its good wishes for its own deliverance ; in the 
heart where liberality of sentiment prevails, it 
will excite a livelier sympathy with those who 
possess what itself has lost, and warmer wishes 
that they may prize such blessings duly, and enjoy 
them long. Acts of kindness, are never felt so sen- 
sibly, nor received so gratefully as when they are 
indeed wanted ; they are seldom lost when they 
are bestowed on such occasions and in such cir- 
cumstances. If therefore, sickness, pain, and 
danger, have a tendency, whilst they are present, 
to enliven the sentiments of gratitude, congratu- 
lation, and compassion, we may be aided, by the 
serious recollection and renewed consideration 
of such scenes, and of their more immediate 
influence, to attain to permanent and progres* 
sive improvement, in these elements and com- 
ponents of Christian charity. 

Do you understand this doctrine ? I see no 
reason to apprehend either that you do not un- 
derstand, or that you doubt it. But perhaps you 
may conceive it better, and be more confirmed in 
the persuasion that in this respect God may be 
glorified in our sufferings, if, having passed 
through such scenes of suffering and danger^ you 



be derived from Severe Illness, 391 

will recollect what you thought and what you 
felt, whilst you were in them. 

Christian, as you lay upon the bed of pain, and 
languishing, did it never come into your heart to 
bless God, did it never once alleviate your bur- 
dens, did it never for a moment suspend your 
attention to them, to reflect, what myriads of the 
family of God, were, at that time, all around you^ 
rejoicing in his benignity ? With your supplica- 
tions for the restoration of your own health and 
ease, were you never prompted to join your in- 
tercessions for the continuance of theirs ? You 
heard perhaps, or if you heard not, did you not 
apprehend, that there were others circumstanced 
like you? Did you shut up the bowels of compas- 
sion from them ? did their afflictions never reach 
your hearts ? did you never wish, if you thought 
they wanted them, the comforts that attended 
you ? did you take no interest in their visita 
tions ? — Your heart's desire and prayer for all 
men was, that they might be saved: for those 
who were in health and prospered, that know- 
ing the value of their blessings, and remembering 
that they also as well as their afflicted brethren 
" were in the body," they might have wisdom to 
improve their blessings, so as to be prepared for 

- Cc4 



392 On the Use and Improvement to 

circumstances such as yours, through which they 
must pass at length : and for those, over whom 
the shadows of adversity had stretched them- 
selves, that in you and them, " patience might 
" have its perfect work, that ye might be perfect 
<c and entire, wanting nothing," and that in this 
world, or in a better, ye might come out of all 
your tribulations, as <c gold out of the fire." 

When in those seasons, you saw the solicitude 
of your friends : the assiduity, perhaps, of a pious 
offspring to repay your care of them, in doing for 
you, what now you could do no longer for your- 
self ; when you observed their anxiety, if any hu- 
man care or intercession could avail to snatch you 
from the impending danger ; when you saw them 
sacrificing ease, and rest, and health, to administer 
to your deliverance and comfort, holding nothing 
dear to them, that, if the will of God were such, 
they might by any means restore you and retain 
you ; when you saw their zealous care to do all 
to which their power extended ; and their heart- 
felt anguish as to that which their power could 
not reach ; when, in their countenances you per- 
ceived the alternate marks of hope and apprehen- 
sion,, of comfort and distress \ while you saw all 
this, while you experienced the benefits and the 
consolations of their friendship, were your hearts 



be derived from Severe Illness. 393 

so hard, that such powerful attachment and such 
zealous service could draw forth from you no 
more than the ordinary current of affection ? No, 
Christian, surely that could not be. . In such a si- 
tuation, the lightest expressions of sincere friend- 
ship, come full upon the heart to a warmer wel- 
come, and with more than ordinary weight. ' 

When we are about to lose our blessings, it is 
then, perhaps, that we first see them in their true 
importance. It is the same when it seems to us that 
we are about to leave them. The last conversation, 
the last kind offices, the last mutual interchange of 
tender words, and silent looks ; that last scene, 
my friends, will agitate the inmost heart, and set 
open all the springs of sympathy and benevolence. 
While that last scene is drawing nigh,. and as long 
also as the impression of it remains in memory, 
every thing partakes of its tender influences. 
While the heart is thus mollified by the united 
power of sharp affliction, and solemn expecta- 
tion ; every kindness, every condolence* every 
good wish, every, even the lightest token of be- 
nevolent attention, sinks deep into it. The me- 
rit of our friends puts on an unusual amiableness, 
and every thing we love is inexpressibly endeared 
to us. 



394 On the Use and Improvement to 

Christians, have you ever felt these sentiments ? 
If you have, you cannot willingly abandon them ; 
for as surely as you have felt them, you approve 
them. You would have loved yourselves the bet- 
ter, if in all time past, these, had on all occasions 
been the abiding sentiments of your hearts. The 
man who is as sensible as he ought to be, and by 
a very little measure of reflection might become, 
of the important use that may be made of such 
circumstances, and of their influences, to give plea- 
santness, acceptableness, and accuracy to his so- 
cial duties ; not only within the more contracted 
circle of his family and friends, but also in the 
wider range of his benevolent affections, will of- 
ten be retracing these circumstances, and their 
Influences, in his mind and heart, that he may 
avail himself of them in the services that he owes 
to the universal family of God ; and in the im- 
provement of his own soul to a resemblance of 
the universal parent. In such cares, he will be 
the more assiduous, if he will permit himself to 
think, that the heart which has once *been expos- 
ed to such powerfully humanizing and attender- 
ing influences, if it is not much the better, must 
of necessity become much the worse. Again, 
To resign ourselves entirely to his disposal, is 



be derived from Severe Illness, 395 

certainly to honour God ; and every event of life 
which we apply to the composing of our minds 
into resignation, confidence, and complacency in 
the divine government, we direct to the honour 
of its Author. Pain, disease, and danger, may 
contribute to form in us this happy temper ; and 
may be rendered the means of its support and 
improvement. You know of whom it is said, 
that he " learnt obedience by the things which 
"he suffered.* 5 Of whatever different senses 
these words are capable, none is more natural 
than this — that his resignation unto God, and his 
confidence in him, were promoted and magnified 
by the severe afflictions he underwent. Human 
nature submits without reluctance to necessity j 
and those necessary trials and afflictions which 
we cannot escape, and out of which we cannot 
help ourselves, are the instruments of generating 
and nourishing that unreluctant submission. 
Much indulgence and little discipline, can hardly 
fail to make a petulant and froward child. High 
health and great prosperity long continued, with 
but few or slight interruptions 5 are not very fa- 
vourable to that self-annihilation which is at once 
a state of mind most easy and most comfortable 
to its owner, and a tribute of homage due to the 



396 On the Use and Improvement to 

wise and gracious Parent of the universe. Light 
afflictions are not so friendly to the growth and 
establishment of this happy temper, as severer 
and more oppressive ones. Against the former, 
we seem to have support and help in the hope of 
overcoming them - 3 and the mind, disposed and 
excited to resist and struggle with them, what- 
ever other benefit it may derive from such trials, 
finds little aid in them, towards perfecting its 
submission to the will of God. 

Much care, perhaps, and much exertion too, 
in such circumstances may be required to keep 
down a repining, fretful spirit, and to preserve 
any tolerable measure of satisfaction in the go- 
vernment of heaven. It is in the great calamities 
of life, in which we cannot help ourselves, and 
in which friendship cannot help us, the pressure 
and the issues of which are, or are deemed by us 
to be, without the reach of human power ; it is 
when we feel most sensibly the conviction of our 
own impotence, and the vanity of all other con- 
fidences, that we feel ourselves most perfectly dis- 
posed, and perhaps most completely enabled to 
subdue our own will, and to cast ourselves entire- 
ly on the good pleasure of our Maker. It is from 
the serious recollection, and the wise application. 



be derived from Severe Illness, 397 
of experience such as this, that we derive the 
most efficacious aids to bring our own will, upon 
all occasions, into a complete coincidence with 
the will of God, and to an habitual consent to all 
he does, or shall do, with us or ours. 

Recollect the feelings of your hearts, while the 
ministers of death were making and renewing 
their assaults upon the friends you have loved ; 
and compare them with the feelings of your heart, 
when the fatal blow was struck, and the irre- 
parable catastrophe was come upon you. Your 
first- state of mind, it may be, was anxiety, tumult, 
agitation, restlessness, and reluctance; your 
wishes, it may be, savoured much of reluctance 
to the will of God ; your importunities, to heaven, 
it may be, were neither so dutiful,, nor so reverent, 
as they should have been. The succeeding state 
of mind, perhaps, was calm, composed, and silent* 
It was God. You acknowledged his rjght to do 
what he would with his own. You knew the 
rod, and who had appointed it. The burden lay 
heavy on your heart j but it was the will of God, 
and your heart disposed itself to bear it ; it was 
best you thought; though you did not see this, 
you believed it : You approved the growing sub- 
missiveness of your temper, and found yourselves 



39 S On the Use and Improvement to 

willing to renounce all choice, to suppress all 
wishes of your own, and to refer yourselves, 
and all your circumstances, to God; to wait his 
will, and to cast your cares on him. When simi- 
lar events have happened to yourselves, the influ- 
ence of them has perhaps been similar; alarm, 
dissatisfaction, and reluctance, which, it may be, 
accompanied the first impressions of affliction and 
of danger, while as yet you thought yourselves 
within help and hope; sunk at last, into submis- 
sion, tranquillity, and acquiescence. As your 
experience of your own impotence, and the ineffi- 
cacy of human aids increased, your conviction of 
your dependence upon God, increased with it. 
You found yourself entirely in his hands ; you 
were willing to think well of your condition 
there; his power, which can neither be con- 
trolled nor eluded, showed every wish of that 
kind to be as weak, as it was vain ; and as you 
could not prevail, so neither would you repine 
against him ; in better hands you could not be : 
it is God, you said, let him do with me whatever 
seemeth to him good. 

Such my friends, ought to be, at all times, the 
voluntary and settled dispositions of your minds. 
If ye be Christians, any more than by profession, 



be derived from Severe Illness, 399 

it is your daily study, not only to do what is the 
will of God, but moreover to rejoice, whatever 
your circumstances may be, that they are, what 
he has appointed. You are at all times in his 
hands ; equally, when the feeling of your strength, 
and the effectual services of your friends, may 
have rendered you less attentive to that depend- 
ence, as when the total failure of these blessings 
may have impressed it upon your hearts with the 
deepest sensibility, and most powerful con- 
viction. If, of these different situations, the one, 
and the more ordinary condition of mankind, that 
of present enjoyment, be less favourable to the 
reverent acknowledgment of the hand of God, 
in the disposition of our circumstances ; the wise 
man will avail himself of all the experience he 
has ever had, ©f this other situation, that of afflic- 
tion and sorrow, to enable him to think justly 
of divine Providence ; to be contented whatever 
may be his portion, and to attain that state of 
mind, which shall finally enable him, "in all 
" things to give thanks." 

Self-will and worldliness, the natural offspring 
of prosperity, are the two great enemies of resigna - 
tion. To have had this self-will controlled and 
overpowered — to have been sensibly compelled 



400 On the Use and Improvement to 

to forgo our own choice, and to take that of 
God—to have felt experimentally the vanity 
of these objects after which worldliness so eagerly 
aspires, is of great efficacy to break the mind to 
habits of religious submission. And if these cir- 
cumstances have not been soo tremendous as we 
feared ; if good hath attended, or resulted from 
them, their tendency is to improve the submission 
of the Christian into something more ; it may, 
and of right it ought to be exalted, from profound, 
to cheerful, and complacent resignation. 

Again, let me just add once more, that another 
Instance, in which the good man will be studious 
to direct the visitations of which we speak to the 
honour of their author, is, the application of the 
arguments they suggest to enhance his concep- 
tions of the value and importance of gospel pro- 
mises ; and to confirm the purpose of his heart, 
by the faithful maintenance of the Christian cha- 
racter, to maintain his title to them. 

" This," saith the Apostle " is the promise that 
<f he hath promised us, even eternal life," Preci- 
ous promise ! the accomplishment of which, will 
make us like unto the angels of God, revealing 
in us all the glory of his children ; and the hope 
of which, has power enough to set our hearts at 



be derived from Severe Illness. 401 

ease about all the accidents of this life, and to 
inspire us with tranquillity and comfort, when 
the end of it comes in view. How gloomy were 
the prospect, and how comfortless the approach 
to it, if in death there were an end of man ! How 
faint and ineffectual the consolation, if the hope 
of surviving that mysterious revolution of our 
being, rested solely on the comments of our 
own minds ; upon some apprehended intima- 
tions that we observed in the Creator's works ! 
Hope, from such a source, might have entertained 
us in the calms and gleams of life, but would it 
have been firm enough to uphold us amidst its 
storms and tempests ? 

Christians, when you made near approaches 
towards the house appointed for all the living, 
would your composure, would your fortitude 
have been what it was, if your hope had stood, 
not upon God's promises, but upon your own 
arguments ? Without seriousness, you could not 
look upon death ; without terror, I may be per- 
mitted to suppose, you did look at him. With- 
out some soft regrets you could not abandon life; 
yet, with full consent of heart, you were ready to 
have laid it down. It was a trying circumstance; 
you felt all the difficulties of it ; what was it that 

Dd 



402 On the Use and Improvement to 

upheld you under them ? As flesh and heart 
were failing, whence was it you derived your 
steadiness and comfort ? From reason and phi- 
losophy was it you derived them ? Alas, when 
you were were most in need of such supports, 
you could neither form, nor recollect, nor under- 
stand an argument upon the subject ; perhaps 
the principles on which it must have rested, were 
in that pressing hour, beyond your comprehen- 
sion. No, Christian, promise and example were 
the cordials that revived you : the precious pro- 
mises of God; the glorious exemplar of his Son. 
This, said you, is the promise that God has pro- 
mised us, even eternal life. You said, and your 
faith failed not, "because Christ lives, you should 
" live also." 

Do you remember, Christian, how precious, 
in that hour of darkness, you esteemed these 
thoughts, and promises, and hopes? Added to 
your good conscience, they were all the wealth 
you possessed. In the general wreck of all 
other comforts, these alone remained with 
you, and with these, perhaps you thought, 
and not unjustly, that you could submissively and 
decently have unfinished your course. Without 
them, I am persuaded that you could witji no 



be derived from Severe Illness. 403 

tranquillity have contemplated that event. What 
would you have done, in that helpless hour, \i 
your conscience had been in arms against you ? 
Or what, if there had been no kind promise on 
- which to have reposed your souls ? If your heart 
was not greatly moved, it was, because it was 
stayed on God $ keep it so. Remember what 
in your distress, you thought of the promises of 
God. Remember, that into like need of the 
peace they speak to those who are entitled to 
them, you must come again. The ministers of 
death, when they shall again beset you, will not 
encourage you to presume on promises, from the 
terms of which you have departed. Abide in 
Christ. The appointed issue of this preparatory 
state, no less than the credit of its progressive 
periods, and the comfort of its closing scenes, de- 
pends upon your patience, perseverance, and 
fidelity. 

Continue patient in well doing. Of those who 
have been within the near prospect of death and of 
eternity, it may well be expected, that when next 
they go thither, it should be with better prepara- 
tion, and with more abundant comforts. Of thosfc 
who have felt the urgent need, and the mighty 
power of the Christian character, and of the 

P4 2 



404 On the Use and Improvement, Kc. 

divine promises, amidst such scenes of oppressive 
languor and of awful expectation, it may reason- 
ably be presumed, that they will be diligent to 
keep alive these salutary impressions, and faithful 
to pursue them, through all their genuine conse- 
quences. — To have had such experimental know- 
ledge, and such deep conviction of things so un- 
speakably interesting, is a privilege that may be 
turned to great account as a powerful means of 
further improvement. Such salutary lessons should 
not be permitted to die away out of our minds. 
Precious promises ! given us that we might be 
made partakers of a divine nature ! — capable of 
shedding the sweetest influences over all the vicis- 
situdes of life, and capable, even in death, of ad- 
ministering the strongest consolations ! 

Ought privileges like these to be forfeited ? — 
Surely the man who hath such hopes in him, 
" should purify himself, even as he, the Lord, is 
" pure he should keep himself " unspotted 
i( from the world," and should " perfect holiness 
" in the fear of God," 



APPENDIX. 



A SERMON, 

Preached to a Society of Protestant Dissenters, 
in the City of York. 

By the Rev. WILLIAM WOOD, 

ON WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 31, 1800, 

IMMEDIATELY AFTER 

The Interment of the Rev, Newcome Cappe, 

Dd3 



\ 



A S E R M O N, &c. 



Acts x. 24. 

an eloq.uent man, and mighty in the scriptures. 

I need not inform this assembly, that no com- 
mon man has now been laid in the grave. The 
general appearance of all around me sufficiently 
indicates, that the serious event which has brought 
us together in this place, at this unusual season, 
is felt by more than a small number of relatives 
and friends. It is to eminent intellectual talents, 
and to acknowledged worth of public character, 
that the present tribute of respect is paid. When 
a good man is taken from private life and a con- 
fined sphere of activity, he will be long and 
deeply lamented by his forsaken associates; the 
remembrance of his virtues will be long and 
fondly cherished by those who have enjoyed his 
affection : but the attention of a country, or of a 

Dd4 



40S Sermon on the Interment of 

large neighbourhood, cannot be excited ; the 
regret of numbers cannot be expressed for the 
loss of blessings which have been known only to 
few. In this case the funeral rites are properly 
simple and brief : the official address of the Christ- 
ian minister is directed solely to the living, and 
has little or no concern with the character of the 
dead. 

But excellence of a rarer kind, energies more 
vigorous, and usefulness more extensive, should 
not be suffered to slide away in silence, and to 
perish in oblivion. The righteous are entitled to 
everlasting remembrance : not for their own 
sake— praise to a deaf ear is dull and unavailing: 
the lifeless corpse is insensible alike to applause 
and to disgrace — but to rouse the slumbering 
virtue of the living, to animate the w T e!l-disposed 
to nobler deeds, to inspire the timid with greater 
confidence in their own strength, and to point 
out to all, the fair paths of honour and happiness. 

I am painfully sensible that to do justice to an 
object so grand, an end so important, and an aim 
so difficult, abilities of the first order are required. 
And I should shrink from an attempt in which, 
after all, I engage with a faltering tongue, if I 
were not encouraged to hope that the generous 



the Rev. Newcome Cappe. 409 

pleasure which attends the survey of intellectual 
vigour and moral eminence will take entire pos- 
session of your souls, and make you regardless of 
all beside. I am still farther supported by the 
assurance, that however feebly the description 
may be given, your own previous knowledge will 
approve its fidelity, For I am not, on this occa- 
sion, compelled to frame a fictitious tale : I need 
not employ the varnish of art to produce a delu- 
sive image by the magic of splendid colours. I 
am only to follow the simple guidance of truth 
and nature. 

I have, moreover, the satisfaction to reflect, 
that I shall not be embarrassed by the untoward 
union of opposite qualities. I am not to celebrate 
a departed warrior, who made his way to success 
and glory through ruined cities and ensanguined 
fields ; I am not to reconcile the feelings of pa- 
triot virtue with the groans of dying heroes, the 
tears of helpless orphans, and the cries of famished 
peasants. Nor am I to accompany the statesman 
through the turns and windings of his way ; and 
to undertake the humiliating task of endeavour- 
ing to palliate dishonourable means, by display- 
ing the important ends for which those means 
were employed. 



410 Sermon on the Interment of 

NGr yet have I to ask your grateful admiration 
of talents and studies which had for their object 
nothing more than the increased comfort or luxu- 
rious enjoyment of the present life, I am not to 
commemorate the inventions of the artist who has 
abridged the toil of the industrious and made 
large additions to the public wealth— or the ob- 
servations of the astronomer who has given 
greater facility to the commerce of distant na- 
tions — or the investigations of the chemist who 
has followed nature into her inmost recesses, has 
compelled her to assume new forms, and has ex- 
torted from her the knowledge of new expedients 
for the readier production of known effects. 

I appear this day in my proper character as a 
minister of religion. I am to bring nothing to 
your view which has not a near, an inseparable- 
connection with your everlasting interests; I am 
to claim your regard for the advocate of piety 
and virtue, a defender of sacred truth, a preacher 
of the gospel of peace, an eloquent man toho teas 
mighty in the scriptures. 

The friend whom we have just accompanied to 
the dark and narrozv house appointed for all 
living, was devoted from his youth to the service 
of the sanctuary. Descended from a father who 



the Rev. Newcome Cappe. 4 It 

had long sustained the office of a Christian 
minister with reputation and success in a neigh- 
bouring opulent commercial town, he obtained 
his profession by a kind of inheritance. But 
with him it was not a passive succession to an 
hereditary employment. The sphere of action 
and usefulness desired for him by parental affec- 
tion, was fully approved by his own deliberate 
choice. He joyfully received the prophet's man- 
tle with the prophet's goods. And, in so doing, 
he was not actuated by views of aspiring ambi- 
tion or indulgent ease. He cast behind him all 
hopes of dignified station, of spiritual authority, 
of political influence, and of ample revenue, 
Placed by the accident of birth without the pale 
of the established church, he sought not a higher 
lot. He could not purchase the patronage of the 
state at what he deemed the expense of an inde- 
pendent mind. All he asked was to have free 
access to the oracles of God, unfettered by human 
creeds, unrestrained by the chilling dread of ec- 
clesiastic censures. He made a just distinction 
between the sacred rights of conscience, and the 
just claims of the civil magistrate. He thought 
it his first duty to render unto God the things 
that are God's ; his next, to render unto Caesar 



412 Sermon on the hitermeni of 

the things that are Caesar's. In the arrangement 
of his religious creed, in his private and official 
intercourse with the Father of his spirit, he 
esteemed himself accountable to no man: in 
whatever concerns the public peace, the secular 
rights of private men, or the social interests of the 
present life, he bowed to his country's laws. 

But though he declined submission to human 
power where he acknowledged no master but 
Christ, and no guide but the written word, in the 
study of that word he disdained not the assist- 
ance of human science. Sensible of the immense 
extent of divine truth in ail its bearings and all its 
dependencies, convinced that the office of a Christ- 
ian minister should not be lightly and hastily as- 
sumed, he eagerly embraced all the means of ac- 
quiring general knowledge. He pursued a regular 
course of academic studies ; he drank freely of the 
invigorating, cheering streams of ancient wisdom $ 
he entirely neglected no branch of those inquiries 
which are usually stiled profane. But the sacred 
wisdom of revealed religion was in all cases the 
final object of his regard. Whatever he studied, 
and whatever he acquired, he applied it all to the 
immediate design of his profession ; he made it 
all conducive to a critical skill in the Holy Scrip- 



the Rev. Newcome Cappe. 4 1 3 

tures. These he read by day; on these he 
thought by night. Well versed in the Greek and 
Roman classic writers, he derived from them 
frequent assistance in explaining the New Testa- 
ment. But though he gratefully employed them 
as useful auxiliaries, he by no means received 
them as unerring guides. He did not look for 
attic purity or attic elegance in the barbarised 
stile of Hellenistic Jews. He well knew that 
the language in which the Evangelists and 
Apostles wrote, was not that in which they com- 
monly conversed and thought. He was con- 
vinced that their narratives and epistles could not 
be completely understood without a constant at- 
tention to Hebrew idioms. It was, therefore, in 
his estimation, an object of primary importance* 
to obtain a thorough insight into the original lan- 
guage and most ancient version of the Jewish 
Scriptures. He regarded the peculiar dialect of 
the Greek interpreters, as, in most cases, the best 
key to the obscure expressions of the first dis- 
pensers of Gospel doctrine. With these aids he 
generally suffered the inspired authors to explain 
their own meaning. He entered with nice ex- 
actness into the distinguishing manner of each : 
he pursued their train of thought: he compared 
them with each other : he considered the circum- 



414 Strmon on the Interment of 

stances in which they were placed, the opinions 
which they had previously formed, and the man- 
ner in which they w T ere likely to be influenced by 
the prevailing sentiments of the times. To the 
explanations of learned commentators he had fre- 
quent recourse : no one ever read them w T ith 
greater care, or could boast a more extensive ac- 
quaintance with their works. But his chief de- 
pendence was on his own researches. What- 
ever he possessed was properly his own, the re- 
sult of his own patient investigation, the dictate 
of his own cool and serious judgment. 

The retired and, in a great degree, uncommu- 
nicated studies of many a laborious year at length 
gave him nearly the same views of the New Tes- 
tament, as, in different connections, and under 
different influences, have been gradually opened 
to the world by the writings of a Lindsey, a Jebb, 
a Priestley, and other divines who, for some time, 
have been generally known by the name of 
Unitarian Christians. But though in the gene- 
ral issue he nearly agreed with those eminent 
inquirers into scripture doctrine, his whole train 
of thought had an original cast, and in some re- 
spects a specific difference from that of every 
other Christian believer. This was the natural, 

5 



the Rev. Newcome Cappe. 4 1 5 

the unavoidable effect of an examination truly free, 
conducted on enlarged principles, and satisfied 
with nothing short of what appeared to himself 
decisive evidence. 

Nor let it be supposed that these different de- 
ductions from the same scriptures are a valid ob- 
jection to the divine authority of the scriptures 
themselves, or any disparagement of their worth 
and usefulness. Let it not be pleaded, on the 
one hand, that on this account there is need of 
an infallible expounder 5 or insinuated, on the 
other, that, by making this concession, we favour 
the doubts of the sceptic, or afford occasion of 
triumph to the infidel. I appeal to the testimony 
of incontestable fact in support of the assertion, 
that some of the firmest, warmest, and most ac- 
tive advocates of the Christian faith hath been 
found in the number of those who have been 
most strenuous in their claim to the right of pri- 
vate judgment, and have exercised that right 
with the greatest freedom and boldness. 

No one had a stronger conviction of the divine 
authority of Moses and of Christ, than our de- 
parted friend. The more deeply he studied the 
sacred scriptures, the more clearly he understood, 
or thought he understood the writings of tha. 



4 1 6 Sermon on the Interment of 

prophets and apostles, the' more distinctly did he 
perceive, the more steadily did he acknowledge 
the consistence and beauty of the two connected 
systems. When he differed from others, he did 
not" wonder at the difference. Fie was no more 
surprised to discover that those, whose talents he 
respected and whose esteem he valued, did not 
concur with him in all his sentiments, than to 
find that they were not of his own height, of his 
own colour, and of his own form. Instead of 
lamenting it as a misfortune that the same inte- 
grity, similar diligence, and equal mental dis- 
cernment do not always lead to exactly the same 
point, he admired in it the wise appointment of 
infinite goodness. He knew that where all is 
easy, and where all men agree, there is little in- 
ducement to close and continued observation. 
He was aware that the mind calls not forth its 
whole strength till difficulties are to be solved, 
discordant opinions are to be compared, and a 
preference to one or the other is to be given. 
He was convinced that the influence of divine 
truth on the heart and life entirely depends upon 
the attention which it excites, and the ardour 
with which it is pursued. He therefore rejoiced 
in that variety of sentiment which keeps curiosity 



. the Rev. Newcome Cappe. 4L7 

alive, creates an interest in the search after truth, 
and by making it the object of repeated inquiry, 
gives it free access to the active powers, and pro- 
duces religious obedience. 

For to this important, this one essential pur- 
pose, ail his own studies were uniformly applied. 
In whatever varying light the circumstantial par- 
ticulars and incidental doctrines of divine reve- 
lation appeared to his growing mind, he dis- 
cerned and reverenced* as the ground-Work of 
the whole, a fixed and efficacious principle of 
inward godliness. Whatever occasion he found 
to correct, or to improve his former decisions, 
here he experienced no doubt, here he was never 
compelled to retract or to qualify. Whatever 
excursions he took in the regions of speculative 
inquiry, whatever he learnt from Moses and the 
prophets, from Christ and his apostles, to this 
conclusion he w r as invariably led : " Fear God 
" and keep his commandments ; for this is all that 
" is truly interesting to man , Finally, brethren* 
" whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things 
" are honourable* whatsoever things are just, 
* c whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things 
* c are lovely, whatsoever things are of good re- 
se port ; if there be any virtue, if there be any 

E e 



4 1 3 Sermon on the Interment of 

iC praise, think on these things, and the God of 
" peace shall be with you. Giving all diligence, 
cc add to your faith, virtue ; and to virtue, know- 
" ledge ; and to knowledge, temperance ; and to 
" temperance, patience; and to patience, godli- 
u ness ; and to godliness, brotherly kindness $ 
4C and to brotherly kindness, charity. For if 
" these things be in you and abound, they make 
" you to be neither barren nor unfruitful in the 
" knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ. But he 
" that lacketh these things is blind and cannot see 
" far off, and hath forgotten that he was purged 
" from his old sins. Wherefore, the rather, 
" brethren, give diligence to make your calling 
" and election sure ; for if ye do these things ye 
< c shall never fall for so an entrance shall be ad- 
" ministered to you abundantly into the ever- 
" lasting kingdom of our Lord and Saviour Jesus 
« Christ." 

Deeply impressed with a conviction of this 
solemn truth, he had no ambition to acquire a 
critical skill in the language of the Holy Scriptures, 
but in strict connection with its evident subser- 
vience to the forming of a pious and virtuous 
character. As he wished rather to be than to 
appear a good scholar ; so he set more value on 
* the inward temper of a devout mind, and the 
silent aspiration of a grateful heart, than on all the 



the Rev, Newcome Cappe, 419 

brilliance of that active spirit which rushes into 
busy life, solicits general notice, and extorts the 
applause of an admiring world. Indeed he was 
so far from a forward and ostentatious display 
of his own powers and of his own attainments, 
that, as those who knew him best will readily 
allow, he carried an aversion to public life, and a 
love of studious retirement, to a somewhat blame- 
able excess. With natural and acquired capaci- 
ties for extensive usefulness, in the course of 
five-and-forty years he was seldom absent from 
this city. With eminent talents for popular elo- 
quence ; with a rich fund of moral and religious 
knowledge , with a rare combination of mental 
qualities, a sound understanding, a vigorous fancy^ 
and quick sympathetic feeling $ with a copious 
flow of strong, and often beautiful expression; with 
a style of composition exactly, I mav, perhaps add, 
exclusively, suited to his own impressive delivery 5 
with a dignity of person and deportment which 
insured the attention of all who heard him, he 
seldom spake as a Christian minister bat from 
this pulpit. Happy in a growing acquaintance 
with sacred truth, in the enjoyments of the family 
hearth, in the instructive converse of a few learned 
associates, and the esteem of a small Christian 

Ee 2 



420 Sermon on the Interment ef 

congregation, he had no ambition to fix the eyes 
of listening crowds, or to obtain the meed of ex- 
tensive fame. If he had not been called to a 
pastoral charge in this ancient metropolis of the 
north, this fixed abode, or winter residence, of 
many a cultivated mind, this periodical resort of 
numerous attendants on judicial law; and if he 
had not been introduced to the knowledge of the 
latter highly respectable body of men, by the 
faithful friend of his youth who long stood at the . 
head of the bar in this circuit *, he might have 
passed through life little noticed and little known. 

But though he confined his ministerial labours 
to the benefit of a few, he gave to that few all 
the respect which applauding multitudes could 
ever have required. His sermons were not the 
incoherent effusions of careless haste, or the cold 
harangues of formal duty. Whatever, he per- 
formed he made conscience of endeavouring to 
perform well. His explanations of Holy Writ were 
addressed alike to the understanding and the af- 
fections* Whatever were the subjects he dis- 
cussed, he drew liberally from his ample stores, 
and out of his treasures brought forth to his peo- 

* The late John Lee, Esq. his Majesty's Attorney Genera! 
the year 1783. 



the Bev. Newcome Cappe, 421 

pie things new and old. His devotional ser- 
vices were scriptural, animated, and a fleeting. 
His piety was, as it always should be, the com- 
bined operation of principle and feeling, a deli- 
berate dictate of the judgment and a warm emo- 
tion of the heart. A firm reliance on the divine 
perfections, a fixed resignation to the divine will, 
and a steady persuasion that all the ways of God 
are just and good, formed, indeed, the character- 
istic features of his mind, appeared in all his 
works, and gave a just direction to the general 
course of his actions. Of this he has left a 
pleasing proof in those interesting Discourses on 
the Providence and Government of God, of 
which the public are now possessed, and which 
are faithful copies from the tablet of his heart. 

This was put especially to the test in the latter 
part of his life, when a melancholy stroke stopped 
the progress of his public labours, nearly closed 
his private studies, and greatly impaired his ac- 
tive faculties. But though cut off from many of 
his former employments, and unfitted in a great 
degree for general intercourse, his pious affections 
still retained their accustomed tenour, his trust in 
God still preserved all its power. Tranquil in the 
bosom of a cheerful and ever attentive family, 



422 Sermon on the Interment of 

soothed with the marked regard of a few ancient 
friends, free from worldly care and mental dis- 
quiet, rejoicing in the Christian faith, and repo- 
sing all his hopes on his Father and his God, he 
passed years of increasing weakness without 
complaint, and at length died without a groan. 

Which of us is not ready to exclaim in the fer- 
vent language of an impassioned heart, Let me 
die the death of the righteous ; let my latter end 
be like his? I trust, my brethren, we are all thus 
affected. I flatter myself it will not be laid to 
our charge that when the good man is taken from 
the earth, we regard it not.' When we con- 
template departed worth, we cherish more than 
a feeling of simple approbation. We are sensible 
that we should do equal injustice to the dead 
and to ourselves, were we only to admire. 
Though the eloquent tongue which has so often 
spoken in this place is now consigned to the 
silent tomb, the Spirit by which it was inspired 
still speaks, and I am persuaded, will long con- 
tinue to speak to this Christian church, to those 
who form a casual part of this assembly, to his 
numerous distant friends, and to all who have 
known his character. " Be ye followers of me, 
cc as I was of Christ/' is the solemn language of 



the Rev, Newcome Cappc. 423 

his durable address. Though the sound does not 
strike our bodily ears, it is, I doubt not, felt in 
our hearts : and I entertain the pleasing hope 
that it sinks deep into our minds and will be 
faithfully obeyed in our lives. To his surviving 
relatives, he has left a pattern which I am sure 
will never be forgotten. To his late assistant 
and now mourning successor, he has bequeathed 
a rich legacy of professional experience which I 
am confident will be valued more than choice 
silver. To you, the former attendants on his 
public labours, there will ever remain a pleasing 
remembrance of the instruction, the caution, 
the reproof, the encouragement and conso- 
lation severally dispensed, each in its due 
season. It has, indeed, already for some time 
been only a pleasing remembrance. But though 
you have been bereaved, you have not been for- 
saken. It was a source of high satisfaction to 
your deceased pastor, that he then saw you and 
was likely to leave you under the faithful direc- 
tion of a younger minister, " for whom he felt the 
" affection of a parent, and from whom he re- 
t€ ceived in return a filial love You are sen- 

* Nearly Mr. Wellbeloved's own words, in a letter to the" 
preacher on the death of his revered friend. 

E e 4 



424? Sermon on the Interment of 

sible of your happiness, and I rejoice with you 
in it. 

What then remains but that we all retire from 
this house of death with minds disposed to seri- 
ous reflection, and with an earnest desire " so to 
(£ number our own days as to apply our hearts to 
cc true wisdom?" We also are mortal. We also 
are made of frail materials, and cairhot insure our 
health, our strength, or our lives, for a moment. 
Before the close of this short winter's day, a 
sudden stroke may relax the sinews of our frame, 
debilitate our mental powers, and either snatch 
us away at once, or cause us to go down by slow 
degrees to the pit. 

But were we certain of what we ourselves are 
accustomed to call " length of years and many 
" days," what at the best is human life ? Is it 
not a vapour which soon dissolves into air ? Is it 
not a shadow which is blotted out by the first 
passing cloud ? What, on the retrospect, are 
" threescore years and ten ?" Are they not cc as 
" yesterday when it is past, and as a watch of 
cc the night?" Time is on the wing; no barrier 
can stop his progress ; no impediment can lessen 
his speed. Our years come and go in swift suc- 
cession : Each has its fixed limits - 3 each is dis~ 



the Rev, Kewcome Cappe. 425 

tinguished by Its peculiar events ; each fulfils its 
appointed purpose in the immense scheme of 
divine Providence, and then is gone for ever. 
In a few hours another will have run its race. 
We shall hail its successor as a welcome guest, 
and shall express our benevolence to each other, 
by cordial wishes for numerous similar seasons 
with eaiml or greater blessings in their train. In 
a few hours another century will also have 
finished its longer course. But with respect to 
that which the silent lapse of time is about to raise 
into being, we cannot employ a similar greeting. 
The commencement of many successive centuries 
none of us hope to see. Where are now the busy 
crowds who rejoiced in the first rising sun of the 
eighteenth ? They have passed away as a flood, 
and are no more seen. Where will every one of 
Us be long before the year nineteen hundred and 
one ? In the cold and insensible mansions of the 
grave. " Our breath will have departed from us ; 
" the thoughts and intents of our hearts will have 
fC perished ; we shall no more have a portion 
f under the sun." 

But can we be satisfied with eternal forget- 
fulness ? Do not our aspiring souls pant for 
immortality ? Do we not ardently desire, 



426 Sermon on the Interment of 

do we not anxiously crave, do we not with 
trembling solicitude almost demand, perpe- 
tuity of being and enjoyment? These ardent 
desires, these anxious cravings, these trembling 
inclinations to demand, will be fully gratified, if 
we do not disappoint them by our own folly* 
The benevolent Creator who has implanted in us 
the wish, has formed us with a view to its com- 
pletion. The Author and Finisher of our faith has 
directed our views to " an inheritance, incorrup- 
" tible, undefiled, and that fadeth not away." If 
we only employ the appointed means, and a walk 
" worthy of our high calling," this inheritance 
will be our eternal portion. " The promises 
" of God," delivered to us " by Christ Jesus, are 
ee all yea, and amen fixed and irrevocable. 
" Neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor princi- 
" palities, nor powers, nor things present, nor 
6i things to come, nor heighth, nor depth, nor 
sc any other creature, shall be able to separate us 
> ( from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus 
" our Lord." All that is to be done on our part, 
is fully made known in the revealed will of God. 
The doctrines of the New Testament are able to 
make us wise unto salvation. But their value 
entirely depends on the spirit with which they 



the Rev. Newcome Cappe. 427 

are studied, and the diligence with which they 
are improved. Though they are in themselves 
the written word of the everlasting God, to us 
they will be nothing more than a dead letter, if we 
do not apply them to our hearts, and receive them 
as rules of conduct. The friend of whom in our 
mortal bodies we have now taken an affectionate 
farewell, was u mighty in the scriptures." He 
devoted the studies of his life to repeated exami- 
nations of their contents, not merely as a profes- 
sional duty — though that was ever present to his 
thoughts—but that he himself might have a 
stronger conviction of their importance, and 
might feel more of their practical influence. 
<c He now rests from his labours, and his works 
66 follow him. He has fought a good fight, he 
cc has finished his course, he has kept the faith : 
"henceforth there is laid up for him a crown of 
" righteousnessj which the Lord, the righteous 
cc Judge, shall give him at the day of his appear- 
" nig." If we cultivate his faith and patience, we 
shall like him in due time become partakers of the 
promises. If we persevere in a course of well doing, 
we shall lament his loss only for a few earthly 
days, and shall celebrate with him an eternal sab- 
bath in the blissful mansions of the just. The 



428 Sermon on the Interment, S£c. 

now-forsaken domestic relatives will then be 
again blest with the husband, the parent, and 
brother ; the members of this religious society, 
who have been long deprived of ministerial ser- 
vices which they once heard with profit and de- 
light, will then again listen to the pastor and the 
friend. All who loved him here will then rejoice 
with him in the regions of perfect love, and will 
join the faithful servants of the God of all nations, 
kindred and tongues, in one triumphant song of 
praise. Therefore, my beloved brethren, let us 
be steadfast and immoveable, always abounding 
in the work of the Lord ; for as much as we know 
that our labour will not be in vain in the Lord. 
Let us be faithful unto death, that we may then 
receive a crown of life. 



SERMON; 

Preached at the Chapel in St. Saviourgats- 
York, 

on sunday, december $6, 1802 } 

ON OCCASION OP THE MUCH LAMENTED DEATH OF 

ROBERT CAPPEj M. D. 



Br CHARLES WELL$ELOVED. 



MULTI3 ILLE BONIS FLEBILIS CCCIDITf 
HVLLl FLEBIUOR QU AM MIHI- 



C 431 ) 



SERMON, &c* 



1st Corinthians xv. 22. 

AS IN ADAM -ALL DIE, EVEN SO IN CHRIST SHALL ALL BE 
MADE ALIVE. 

I appear before you this day, my Christian 
friends, with far other feelings than those which 
usually animate me, when I lead your devotions, 
and open to you the words of sacred wisdom ; 
with far other feelings than I expected now to 
experience, when I last met you in this House of 
Prayer. I had hoped on this day, as we assem- 
ble not on that which is consecrated, by the 
greatest part of our Christian brethren, to the 
commemoration of the birth of Christ, to have 
directed your thoughts to some subject exclu- 
sively connected with the advent of our blessed 
Lord: but recent mournful intelligence con- 
cerning one who was well known to all of us, 
and greatly and deservedly beloved by all to 
whom he was known, has imposed upon me a 



432 Sermon on the Death of 

duty of a different, of a very painful nature. To 
the event of which I am now speaking, no one 
in this audience can be a stranger. The relation 
of it has already met your eye, or by some falter- 
ing tongue has been conveyed to your ear, and 
your hearts have felt the sincerest sorrow r . Some 
there were, I know, whose minds were filled 
with melancholy forebodings, who looked for all 
that has happened \ but there were others, of 
whom I was one, who formed our expectations 
according to our w-ishes^ and to the last indulged 
the pleasing hope, that the fears of those who w r ere 
less confident than ourselves would prove vain, 
But by the appointment of that Divine Provi- 
dence, which often accomplishes its wise and bene- 
volent purposes, by means inscrutable to mortal 
eyes, these fears have been all realized, and he 
for whom we so lately offered up our earnest 
prayers, that he might reach the destined port in 
safety and be restored tqt^ealth and usefulness, 
has found a grave mighty waters. Many 

have known him longer .than I have— few T have 
felt for him a more ardent affection. As the vir- 
tuous son of your late honoured pastor, never to 
be forgotten by me — " while memory holds her 
seat"— he would have been justly entitled to my 



Robert Cappe, M. D. 433 

most friendly regards ; but his own excellent qua- 
lities, and the numberless instances in which he 
manifested to me the sincerest friendship, laid 
the most powerful claims upon my affection, and 
endeared him to me as a brother. His mild and 
amiable manners; his upright and exemplary 
conduct ; his cheerful and instructive conver- 
sation $ the lively interest he ever took in all 
that related to the welfare of myself and of my 
family; his unremitting and kind attentions in 
the hours of sickness, or of painful anxiety, at- 
tached him strongly to my heart, from which he 
never can be removed, till that heart shall cease 
to beat.— You will, I doubt not, my friends* 
pardon this effusion of private grief, so soothing 
to my own breast, and sympathize in the sor- 
rows, that must flow upon the loss of such a 
friend. 

But what is my loss compared with that which 
is now generally felt ; what is my sorrow, when 
put in competition with that which has been ex- 
cited by this mournful event, amongst all ranks 
of persons in this City ! — You will bear witness 
that the death of an individual has scarcely ever 
been more widely lamented, nor sincerer marks 
of grief exhibited^ for one of so early an age> and 

? f 



£34 Sermon on the Death 6f 

of the station he held in society. Nor can this be 
the cause of surprise to any who were at all ac- 
quainted with his eminence and worth. Many 
of you, it is probable, have experienced the be- 
nefits "of his kind care and unwearied attention, 
in the hours of pain and suffering; you recollect 
the more than professional concern which he 
showed for you, in all your sicknesses ; you never 
can forget the friendly accents with which he 
calmed your fears, and raised your hopes ; you 
remember, with gratitude, how regardless he was 
of his own ease, and of his own health also, 
when employed in restoring ease and health to 
you: you have seen, with admiration, how every 
selfish feeling was absorbed and lost in the wish 
of doing good ; and ycu know with what un- 
abated zeal and pleasure he imparted his be- 
nevolent and salutarv advice to the sick and 
miserable poor, who now bewail their lost bene- 
factor, and are amongst his sincerest mourners, 
No wonder that the eminence to which he 
reached at so early a period of life, and after so 
short a residence amongst us, was almost unex- 
ampled : no w T Onder that the highest expec- 
tations had been formed of his future character : 
no wonder that so many weep over his untimely 



Robert Cappe, M. D. 435 

death. The billows of the Mediterranean new 
roll over his lifeless corse, — but the remembrance 
of his talents and his virtues can never be de- 
stroyed. 

This afflictive dispensation of Providence must, 
as I before observed, in some measure, divert 
our thoughts from the subjects which are most 
suitable to the present day. I am not willing 
that they should be altogether disregarded ; and, 
if I mistake not, the words of my text will lead 
to" some considerations which will harmonize 
both with the season, and the melancholy event 
which we nov^ deplore. We mourn over a 
fresh proof, that in Adam all die; we are re- 
minded by the season, of the birth of that second 
Adam, in whom all shall be made alive.' We* 
w r eep over the premature departure of one, who, 
had he been permitted by an ail- wise Providence, 
would have filled an eminently useful and honour- 
able station, with increasing credit to himself, 
and extensive benefit to others; this season di- 
rects us to a source of consolation in the mission 
of Jesus, who has brought good tidings of great 
joy, by the clear revelation of that happy state/in 
which the noblest employments w ill be 'afforded 
to the most exalted minds, through endless age: j 



436 Sermon on the Death of 

and all who have been united here by the ties of 
virtuous friendship shall meet again, to be sepa- 
rated no more for ever. At no time does the 
mind more justly appreciate the value of this 
heavenly doctrine, than in the hour of sorrow. 
At this hour, therefore, you are best prepared to 
feel the obligation you owe to Him who came 
into the world upon so important an errand, and 
to offer your devout thanksgiving to the Father 
who sent him. 

That we do awe all our knowledge of a future 
state to the mission of Jesus Christ, is a truth, as it 
appears to me, established upon the clearest evi- 
dence. In vain shall we look either to the Jewish 
or the Heathen world for a doctrine so full of con- 
solation, so essential to the virtue and happiness of 
mankind. To whatever else their knowledge 
extended, upon this great subject they were in- 
darkness. Nature would often sigh after the re- 
newal of existence, but Reason repressed every 
aspiration, pointed to the breathless corse, and 
bade all her hopes rest in the grave. Revelation 
had not opened the portals of the mansions of 
immortality, and they resisted all the force of the 
arm of Reason. In the earliest ages of the 
^orld,.as the scriptures of the Old Testament in- 



Robert Cappe, M. D. 431 

form us, the Supreme Being revealed himself to his 
creatures, by such methods and under such cha- 
racters as best suited those times of ignorance. 
Of the nature of the communications which he 
then afforded to mankind, we are not accurately 
informed, but we may reasonably suppose, that 
they related chiefly to his own being and perfec- 
tions, that they comprehended such general in- 
structions as were necessary concerning the con- 
duct they were required to pursue, and, it may be, 
conveyed some obscure intimation of a future re- 
ward proportioned to their obedience. As the 
world advanced in its progress from a state of in- 
fancy to manhood, these revelations became less 
frequent ; the little light that had been communi- 
cated was obscured, and almost extinguished • 
the few faint rays of truth that had beamed upon 
the human intellect, were overpowered by the 
growing night of error ; the knowledge of one 
Supreme God was lost, and the Hosts of Heaven 
received that adoration which was due to Him 
alone who formed them by the word of his 
power, and retained them by his unceasing 
energy in their appointed courses. In the midst 
of this extended intellectual and religious dark- 
ness, the merciful Father of his creatures, selected 

Ff3 



433 Sermon on the Death of 

one family to be the repository of the great truths 
of his unity and moral government, and to ex- 
hibit, in its various fates, his constant attention 
to the affairs of men, More than this the 
Mosaic dispensation did not embrace ; because 
more than this its peculiar institutions were not 
capable of exhibiting, nor the world at large 
fitted to receive. The doctrine of a future life 
formed no part of the communications made to 
the great Jewish lawgiver, nor was the hope or 
expectation of a state of righteous retribution 
after death, ever held out as an encouragement 
to the obedient, or a warning to the rebellious. 
The inheritance of the land of their fathers, a long: 
and prosperous life, protection from the power of 
their enemies, and the security of national hap- 
piness, were the rewards proposed ; and the obe- 
dience required, was chiefly such as related to the 
external service of God, and the rites of a cere- 
monial worship. Some striking. intimations were 
indeed given, that the power of God could renew 
the life that had been lost, or remove his servants 
to some other scene of being ; and the language 
of their 'prophets might, in some instances, 
awaken a faint hope that the power of God 
would be thus exerted ; but this hope was not 



• . Robert Cappe, M. D. 439 

confirmed by revelation,, and was liable to be 
destroyed by every circumstance that attended 
the dissolution of the human frame. 

If the Jewish nation, the people whom God 
had chosen to preserve in the world a memorial 
of his name, were thus left in darkness upon so 
important a subject, we cannot expect to find 
any clearer and more satisfactory information, 
amongst those who had forsaken the worship of 
the Almighty, and devoted themselves to idols. 
Some uncertain tradition had been conveyed 
down from the most remote antiquity, but it 
was mixed with the grossest and most absurd 
mythology, and was itself treated as a fable, 
even by the vulgar. The philosophers deemed 
it a subject of curious speculation^ 

~- __ « and reasonM high, 



But found no end, in wandering mazes lost/' 

Every inquiry only convinced them, that the 
subject was above the reach of human powers, 
and generally terminated in confirming their 
incredulity.- — The less curious and enlightened 
attempted not to penetrate the veil that was 
thrown over futurity 3 they amused themselves 
with the fanciful fictions of their poets; they 

Ff4 



440 Sermon on the Death of 

performed the sacred rites which the false piety 
of their ancestors had decreed to the deities who 
were supposed to preside over the regions of the 
dead ; they pleased themselves with the reflection, 
that they had thus fulfilled the duties of good citi- 
zens, and they returned to their usual occupations, 
and to their accustomed pleasures, with little 
more apprehension of a future state of retribution, 
than the animals that had bled before the altar. 
In the philosophical writings of ancient Greece 
and Rome, there occur, it must be confessed, 
some very sublime passages relating to the future 
life of man - ? but they are seldom, if ever, wholly 
free from expressions which betray anxiety and 
doubt. We meet occasionally with such lan- 
guage of triumph and exultation, as might well 
become a disciple and follower of Jesus ; but the 
reasonings upon which it is founded, are by no 
means conclusive, in proving any thing but an 
anxious wish to believe that the mind of mai} 
would survive the shock of death. 

But it was not in the designs of the wise and 
benevolent Ruler of the world to leave his crea- 
tures for ever in this state of uncertainty and 
ignorance 5 upon a subject so intimately connected 
with their improvement and felicity. All his 



Robert Cappe, M. D. 441 

former dispensations, kindly and wisely suited to 
the wants and the capacities of his rational off- 
spring 3 were only preparatory to that more 
glorious display of his goodness ; and that more 
complete communication of his will, which 
before all ages he had determined to make by 
the Messenger of the new Covenant. The whole 
course of events was directed to this great end ; 
and the rise and fall of kingdoms and of empires, 
opened the way for the everlasting reign of the 
Messiah: For this purpose, one family was in 
very remote times selected from the rest of the 
world, kept separate from all other nations by a 
law of painful and burdensome ceremonies, and 
made to experience great vicissitudes in their 
condition. For this purpose, they rose superior 
to their enemies, and by a state of almost un- 
exampled prosperity, attracted the admiration 
and the envy of the world ; and for this purpose, 
they pined in a long and miserable captivity, 
and by the waters of Babylon unstrung their harps 
and wept : For this purpose, the youthful con- 
queror of Macedon desolated the fertile plains 
of the East, and carried his all-subduing arms 
through half the ancient world ; and for this pur- 
pose, the Roman Eagle took her flight from the 



442 Sermon on the Death of 

remotest parts of the West, and stayed it not, 
till she had reached the distant regions of the 
morning : For this purpose, the contending fac- 
tions in the capital of the world, after much 
tumult, submitted to one despotic lord, and 
the whole empire of Rome enjoyed unin- 
terrupted repose. Then came that fullness of 
iirne, which had been the subject of a long 
train of successive prophecies, and Jesus of Na- 
zareth was sent to teach and to exemplify, not 
the probability* but the glorious certainty of a 
life to come. 

And were this the only purpose, as it is cer- 
tainly the most important, which the mission of 
Jesus was designed to answer, it must be 
deemed highly deserving of all the extraordinary 
provisions which were made by Divine wisdom 
and power for its complete accomplishment 
The doctrine of a future life, is a doctrine of in- 
estimable value. This, and this alone, can afford 
comfort to a being, constituted as man is, en- 
dowed with exalted faculties, yet frail and perish- 
able as the insect of a day ; this alone can solve the 
difficulties that arise in contemplating the Divine 
government , this alone can administer strength to 
withstand every temptation, and encourage us. 



Robert Cappe, M. B. 443 

in'all our trials, to " continue stedfast, immovable, 
always abounding in the work of the Lord." 
To excite your grateful praise, and to offer you 
the means of consolation under the event we 
now deplore. I shall employ the remaining part 
of this Discourse in such observations as appear 
to me best adapted to prove to you the value of 
this Christian doctrine. 

I. We may in some measure, estimate Its 
value, by considering the ample gratification it 
affords to that strong affection for life, which the 
Creator, for the wisest purposes, has implanted in 
the human breast. There is no treasure in this 
world that we prize so highly as existence ; there 
is no possession that we resign with so much re- 
luctance. When our circumstances are easy and 
prosperous, we cling to life, and the very thought 
cf losing it, interrupts our joy : and when our 
trials are numerous .and severe, we still find 
something in the consciousness of being, which 
renders us willing to endure them. Life, with 
all its various discipline, offers many objects 
which unavoidably attach our hearts to it, and 
to despise or lightly esteem it, would be a vio- 
lation of the principles of our nature, and an act 
of ingratitude and impiety to Him, who is the 



444 Sermon on the Death of 

author of our being. True religion is in no in- 
stance at variance with nature r- She is nature's 
instructor and guide. True religion requires not 
that we be indifferent to the blessing of life — 
but only that our affections be moderate and well 
regulated ; she commands us " to have our con- 
versation in heaven, and to mind chiefly the 
" things that are above y but she forbids not that 
we rejoice in our existence* and receive with 
thankfulness its important advantages. The pious 
man well knows, that there are many things that 
he is to esteem of higher concern than the tran- 
sitory years of his present being; that he is never 
to suffer the love of life to estrange his mind from 
God, or to place any obstacles in the way of his 
duty ; but while he renders this life subservient 
to the great purposes of his creation, he must 
feel its value, and so much the more as he has 
thereby secured its most satisfactory delights. 
The mind must be lost to every proper feeling, 
that can be totally indifferent to existence. To 
behold the wonderful works of God in this part 
of his creation, — to view the countless beauties 
by which our residence here is adorned, — to pos- 
sess those active mental powers which distinguish 
us from the inferior animals, and the exercise of 



Robert Cappe, M. D* 445 

which affords so much pure satisfaction, — to 
know the delights of social converse, and unut- 
terable pleasures of the domestic relations, — to 
have so wide a sphere of human duty, from the 
practice of which results such exalted happiness, 
and not to love life, not to be in some degree 
averse from quitting it, would be to do violence 
to the plainest dictates of our nature : What then 
would be our sensations, if we knew that the 
moment which terminated the short period of 
our being here, would terminate the whole of our 
existence that the grave which closed upon our 
lifeless bodies would be the eternal prison of all 
those powers and affection s, which are now the 
scource of such pure enjoyment ! In the prospect 
of annihiliation, how would our hearts die with- 
in us ! In the apprehension of eternal forgetful- 
ness, with what anxiety and fear should we loolc 
forward to the moment which would for ever re- 
move us from the light of day ! To creatures thus 
constituted, fond of life, and dreading its utter 
extinction, what can be more consolatory and 
delightful than the certainty which the Christian 
revelation affords ; that the life we now enjoy is 
no more than the infancy of our being; that from- 



446 Setmon on the Death of 

the bed of death we shall rise to a state of infinite 
duration and unspeakable felicity"- that all the 
exalted powers and all the virtuous affections 
which now so eminently distinguish us amidst 
the works of God, shall neither be lost nor in-, 
jilted, but revived, invigorated, and enlarged, shall 
be without interruption and without weariness 
for ever occupied in the noblest pursuits, invari- 
ably fixed upon the sublimest objects, and - pro- 
gressively advancing to inconceivable perfection. 

II. The value of this doctrine may also be 
estimated from the power it possesses of impart- 
ing relief to those who are in distress, and of re- 
conciling our minds to the most painful and in- 
scrutable events of Providence. Much reason as' 
we have to love life, and thankful as we are 
bound to be to that Almighty power which' 
called us into being, yet are we compelled to ac- 
knowledge, that it is often a state of severe suf- 
fering, and subject to many evils which prove a 
hard trial of our faith and constancy. But the 
storm of grief is never so violent, that the words 
of Christ cannot hush it into a. calm ; the night 
of affliction is never so dark and so long, that ' 
the light of the gospel cannot cheef or dissipate 
the gloom, ' 



Robert Cappe, M. 3, '44*7 

How have the faithful servants of the most 
High God, and the disinterested friends of human 
kind, in different ages and in various climes, been 
oppressed and persecuted. " They have bad 
<c trials of cruel mocking? and scourgings, of. 
" bonds and imprisonment. They have been 
(C stoned ; they have been sawn asunder $ they 
" have been slain by the sword ° 5 they have 
** wandered about in sheep-skins and in goat- 
" skins, destitute, afflicted, tormented, of whom. 
" the world was not worthy." In all these things 
what has been their support ? in so great a con- 
flict what has enabled them to maintain iC a good 
" fight, to finish their course, to keep the faith ?" 
What, but the testimony of a good conscience, 
and a firm confidence in the promises of the gos- 
pel ? They know, that the power of their perse- 
cutors was subsect to the control of One whose 
power is boundless ; they were assured, that to 
whatever extent it was permitted to go, a time 
would come when the wicked should cease from 
troubling them, and they should be at rest. They 
kept in view that great consummation of all 
filings, when the faithful witnesses of truth shall 
escape " from their great tribulation, and wash 
a their robes and make them white' in the blood 



445 Sermon on the Death of 

il of the Lamb ; when they shall be brought before 
<c the throne of God and serve him day and night 
" in his temple 5 and he that sitteth on the throne 
sc shall dwell among them ; when they shall 
" hunger no more, neither thirst any more, nor 
" the sun light upon them nor any heat j when 
" the Lamb that is in the midst of the throne 
" shall feed them and lead them unto living 
• c waters, and God shall wipe away all tears from 
<c their eyes. 

How often do the virtuous sons of industry, 
after many days of wearisome toil, and many 
nights of disturbed repose, see no other fruit of 
their anxious labours than penury and distress ! 
All their care and all their unceasing exertion 
scarcely supply the means of preserving in life 
those helpless little ones whom they have brought 
into it ; much less furnish even a scanty provi- 
sion for those days when their limbs shall lose 
their accustomed strength, and refuse their ac- 
customed employments ! In the midst of these 
inevitable evils, what shall support their drooping 
spirits, what shall preserve them from despair ? 
what, but the joyful hope of that future world, in 
which all the variety of external condition, so 
necessary here, shall be known no more ; where 

£ 



Robert Cappc, M. t). 44$ 

it shall be no longer requisite cc to labour for the 
" meat that perisheth where their activity shall 
be directed to nobler pursuits; and want; anxiety, 
and fear, shall b£ never felt ! 

The natural and most common state of man is 
that of healthfulness and vigour. We arise in the 
morning, and go forth to the duties and the en- 
joyments of the day; we lie down in the evening 
on the bed of peace, and our sleep is refreshing 
to us. But the movements of a machine so com- 
plicated, and so curious, as the human frame, 
must, at times, be thrown into disorder ; from 
the numerous host of diseases and of accidents 
by which we are continually surrounded, some 
must, at times, be commissioned to hurt us. Our 
activity is changed into languor ; our strength is 
converted into weakness ; days of pain, and 
wearisome nights, are appointed to us ; in the 
morning, we w r ish it were evening ; and in the 
evening, we long for morning ; " the whole head 
" is sick, and the whole heart is faint.'* Our for- 
titude, our faith, and our patience, are then 
severely tried ; and what shall enable us to sup- 
port the trial ? What, but the firm assurance 
which the Christian revelation imparts ; that, to 
them who love and obey God, all shall terminate 



450 Sermon on the Death of 

happily and well ; that, if " the sickness be not 
** unto death," it is ordered for his glory* that 
our minds may be more elevated, our affections 
more purified, and our future conduct more uni- 
formly regulated by the laws of holiness - y but, if 
it be sent as the messenger of our dissolution, 
that it will be the means of introducing us into 
those happy regions, the inhabitants of which 
know not for ever, accident, disease, decay, or 
death ? 

But though the faithful servant of God be no 
loser by that termination of his sickness which 
bears him from the present scene, the domestic 
circle mourn over his departure - x the friends who 
once shared in his affections, find a painful inter- 
ruption of their joys. To whom shall they go for 
consolation ? To whom, but to Him who has the 
words of eternal life ; who has promised, in the 
name of that omnipotent Being who sent him 
into the world <c to heal the broken-hearted, ,? 
that all who are in their graves shall hear th& 
voice of the Son of God, and live ? 

The afflicted family follow to the grave the 
venerable parent, by whose kind and pious care 
their early feet were led into the path of in- 
tegrity and virtue. j their tender minds were di« 



Robert Cappe, M. I). .451 

rected to the love of God, and the desire of his 
approbation ; their youthful affections were set 
upon those great objects which are most worthy 
of the regard of rational and accountable crea- 
tures. Thus instructed, they have acquitted 
themselves in the world with honour and use- 
fulness ; their growing excellencies have cheered 
the declining years of their parent ; their filial 
piety has supported his feeble steps, as he was 
descending into the valley of the shadow of death. 
To stand around such a grave is a painful task $ 
but how sure an alleviation of the mourners* 
sorrow, is the certainty which the Christian 
doctrine affords y that beyond the grave are the 
mansions of blessed spirits ; regions of immortal 
joy, into which they also will, at no distant period* 
be conveyed, and there once more join their 
beloved parent, listen again to the accents so 
long dear to them, and aid the general song of 
praise to Him who hath realized all their glori- 
ous hopes. 

That the children should weep over the tomb 
of those who gave them birth, is a circumstance 
to which nature might, in some degree, recon- 
cile us : a far more distressing scene is pre- 
sented,, when the parent commits to the dark 

Gg2 



452 Sennon on the Death of 

and silent mansion of the grave, the child of hi& 
warmest affections, and his fondest hopes. All 
the little endearments of infancy, all the pleasing 
emotions raised by his growing youth ; all the 
flattering expectations he had formed of future 
eminence, usefulness* and mutual comfort, rush 
at once into his mind, and are all contrasted 
with that clay-cold corse* insensible to his grief, 
incapable of ministering any more to his delight. 
The eye that so lately beamed with pleasure, 
when the voice of parental kindness was heard, 
is extinguished in death ; the ear, which listened 
with eager attention to the instruction of parental 
wisdom, is now closed to every sound ; the 
tongue, that spoke joy inexpressible to the pa- 
rent's heart, is chained in unbroken silence: what 
wonder if the feelings of his labouring breast 
exceed all utterance ; if, for a time, the whole 
delight of life is gone ; if, on whatever side he 
turns, the world appears an universal blank, no 
more the scene of happiness to him. Nature 
must be obeyed, and the full tide of grief must 
be permitted to flow. It will at length subside, 
and the mind will look for relief and consolation. 
In the promises of the gospel, and in these alone, 
it will be abundantly found. There the afflicted 
parent will learn that his beloved child is taken 



Robert Cappe, M. D. 453 

from him, only for a short season ; that he shall 
yet Jive, and live for evermore ; that his virtues 
are not lost, nor his powers consigned to destruc- 
tion ; that he shall be restored to him in more 
favourable circumstances, grow up in his society 
in the continually increasing knowledge of God 
and truth, and delight him with a never ending 
progress in wisdom and piety. 

Many are the houses of mourning in this vale 
of tears ; in more than in one of these you will 
find the disconsolate widow :— The relentless 
destroyer, permitted for a season to lay waste 
the works of God, has just torn from her em- 
braces the husband of her youth. In silent, tear- 
less sorrow, she sits the unresisting prey of ten 
thousand heart-rending reflections : she hears not 
the condoling accents of friendship ; she regards 
not the artless caresses of the fatherless infant, 
too young to feel or know its loss • and wonder- 
ing that it cannot provoke the accustomed smile, 
nor move the eye that has so often shed over it 
the tear of joy. Her troubled thoughts are 
dwelling upon all the dear delights of connubial 
Jove, now fled for ever, or brooding over the 
dangers of the road of life, through which she 
Is now to pass alone and unprotected. But the 

Gg3 



454 Smiwn on the Death of 

hour? . of this unutterable anguish will soon be 
over, and she will look around for some ray of 
comfort to guide her through the gloom. And 
whence can any come, but from the glorious 
light of the gospel of Christ. Encouraged to 
place her firm and humble confidence in Him 
who is the Father of the Fatherless, and the 
widow's God, and taught to expect that she shall 
again be united to the partner of her joys, and 
be separated no more for ever, she regains her 
wonted composure, and awaits with patience and 
with hope, her appointed change. 

It forms a very important part of the character 
of that future state which the Christian scriptures 
have promised to all the truly wise and virtuous, 
that the knowledge of those who are thought 
worthy to enter there, shall be increased beyond 
any assignable limit. ci Here vye see, as in a 
<c glass, darkly, there we shall see, face to face ; 
" here we know only in part, there we shall 
<f know, even as we are known." Though many- 
parts of the divine counsels and government must 
be for ever beyond the reach of cur most im- 
proved and exalted faculties $ yet we may rea- 
sonably hope, that many things which are now 
concealed, will be clearly and satisfactorily un- 



- 

I 

Robert Cappe, M. D* 435 

folded 5 and we shall see and acknowledge^ that 
what we were here too much disposed to think a 
manifestation of Supreme Power alone, was the 
result of infinite wisdom and unbounded benevo- 
lence. The friend of truth, will there learn, why 
his name was cast out as evil, and he himself the 
subject of reproach and persecution for righte- 
ousness' sake. The parent shall clearly see, and 
devoutly own that ? however painful the dispen- 
sation that removed from him the child of his 
fondest hopes, k was both wise and kind. The 
widow shall be satisfied, that it w as the hand 
Gf Infinite Goodness, which deprived her of the 
partner of her bosom,, the protector of herself and 
her children. And we, Christians, shall then be 
permitted to know, why he, whose premature 
departure^ we are now lamenting, has been taken 
from a scene in which he was fitted to move with 
such extensive usefulness, and such well-earned 
honour; why he who seldom failed to administer 
relief to others, was himself so long the victim 
of disease ; why he who, in the hand of God 5 
was the means of rescuing so many from the 
grave, and of restoring them to the delighted 
embraces of their friends, was called at so early 
a period of lik, from the duties and enjoyments 

Gg4 



4-56 Sermon on the Death of 

of the present scene. Now, the dispensation is 
awful and passing the comprehension of mortal 
wisdom. In the silence of pious meditation, we 
adore the hand of God, believe that all his ways 
are just and true, and await that glorious day 
which shall fully prove them so. 

III. The only remark I can now offer in addi- 
tion to what has been already observed, to prove 
to you the value of the Christian doctrine of a 
future life, is, that it is adapted to produce the 
most important and beneficial effects upon the 
temper and conduct. You cannot, I trust, doubt 
of its power to console the afflicted - 3 its efficacy 
is no less in "teaching us to deny all ungodli- 
ic ness and worldly lusts, and to live soberly, 
" righteously, and piously in the present world/* 
The voice of revelation has assured us, that all 
who die shall live again ; but they only who die 
in the fear and love of God, shall enjoy the 
blessedness of a future state. The world to come 3 
will be a scene of recompense; a glorious dis- 
play of the boundless benevolence of the Deity $ 
it will also be a scene of righteous, retribution, 
and an awful manifestation of the dreadful judg- 
ments denounced against the impenitent. The 
faithful servants of the Most High, shall indeed 



Robert Cappe, M. D. 457 

awake from the sleep of death, be it long, or 
be it short, satisfied with the divine likeness, and 
be for ever happy in the presence of God : their 
trials will be all over ; their conflicts will be all 
ended (i they shall come to Zion with songs, 
" and everlasting joy shall be upon their heads 
but they who now despise his mercies, and are 
disobedient to his commands, shall arise to shame 
and confusion, and be " driven from the pre« 
sence of the Lord." Far from the happy society 
of the spirits of the just made perfect, they shall 
sigh over their past ingratitude, and bewail that 
hardness of heart which could withstand all the 
powerful calls to repentance and true holiness. 

Can any motives be proposed more powerful 
than those which are suggested by these solemn 
truths, to induce us to choose the way that is 
right, and to urge us to keep in it with stead- 
fastness ? Can it be a matter of indifference 
whether our future life be renewed in happiness 
or in misery ? whether we receive from our im- 
partial Judge, a crown of immortal joy, — or be 
consigned to anguish, tribulation, and wrath ; 
whether, when the few short years of our pre- 
sent transitory being shall be over, we be raised 
to further advances in knowledge, holiness, and 



458 Sermon on the Death of 

felicity, — or doomed to regions of darkness and 
unutterable woe? In any breast beats there a 
heart so hardened as to despise the joys which 
God hath promised to all who love and fear 
him, to prefer the misery that must await the 
vicious — The pains, which are the sure con- 
sequence of evil induigence in the present state ^ 
the ad monitions of conscience, who at times will 
be heard, are designed by the moral Governor 
of his creatures, and are well suited to produce 
repentance and amendment; but how loud and 
how impressive the call to forsake every evil 
way, and with zeal and constancy to follow after 
righteousness, which Revelation utters, when she 
declares that all who have done evil shall come 
forth at the voice of the Son .of God, not " to 
* c the resurrection of life, but to the resurrection 
ce of condemnation." 

While the prospect of a future life is thus 
adapted to alarm the wicked, and to bring him 
to a sounder mind and a wiser conduct, it offers 
to the good man the surest aid, and the most 
animating encouragements to surmount every 
difficulty, to conquer every temptation, to resist 
every allurement, and to " go on his way through 
? evil as well as good report, rejoicing." Habi- 



Hubert Cappe, M. D. 459 

tually referring all his actions to a future period, 
and looking far beyond the present moment, he 
gains a comprehension of mind, and a dignity of 
sentiment, which he who has no higher object 
than present gratification can never know. Safe 
under the protection of God, he fears no evil ; 
assured that all which happens to him now, is 
according to the will of Infinite Benevolence, and 
bears some important relation to the future scene 
of being, his mind is never long cast down, nor 
his sorrows ever violent or lasting. " In the 
4 f world he may have tribulation," but by the 
principles of the gospel he can " overcome the 
<c world." His passage through life may be 
stormy, but the hope of the gospel "is an anchor 
sc of the soul, sure and steadfast." The things of 
this world he considers always as they respect 
the world to come, and thus rightly appre- 
ciates their value, and escapes all the evil in- 
fluence they might have upon his mind. Re- 
garding the present state only as the infancy of 
his being, and all the events which take place in 
it, as the means of his education for a more per- 
fect and a more glorious scene ; he makes a con° 
tinual progress in holiness and virtue — enjoys 
that peace of mind which passeth all under- 



4$0 Sermon on the Death of 

standing, and expects, with humble confidence^ 
the reward of his faith and obedience. 

The doctrine which can produce such im- 
portant effects upon the conduct, and administer 
such sure consolation in the day of adversity and 
sorrow, must be considered as of inestimable 
value, by all of us, but particularly by'you, my 
more aged hearers, who have long worshipped 
God in this house of prayer. Your minds must 
be deeply impressed by this awful visitation of 
his Providence. Ke whom you now lament, is 
not the first whom death has torn away from 
the domestic circle of your late pious and faithful 
instructor. Ye saw him who was a pattern to 
you of those good works which he so zealously 
and affectionately exhorted you to perform, 
whose life was no less eloquent than his preach- 
ing, in the cause of piety and virtue, with a for- 
titude that raised your admiration, commit to the 
silent tomb his first-born son, over whose mind 
he had watched with unremitting-, but delighted 
care, who seemed about to realise the highest 
expectations that could be formed, and to 'be 
entering upon a field of most extensive useful- 
ness and honour. It is not long since you wept 
over the grave of that pious and venerable pa- 



Robert Cappe, M, D. 461 

rent^ mercifully, as we now must own, saved 
from that hour of sorrow, which, in the feeble 
state to which long-continued disease had re- 
duced him, must have painfully completed the 
termination of his mortal life. How unsearchable 
are the ways of God ! Believe, my honoured 
friends, that when he sits awfully retired, c with, 
' clouds and storms around him thrown/ that all 
he appoints is wise and benevolent. — Ye cannot 
be far from the hour which will remove your pre- 
sent ignorance, solve all your anxious doubts^ 
and open to you such a view of the government 
of God, as shall nil you with astonishment and 
delight, which no mortal tongue can tell, which 
no mortal heart could bear. Give all diligence 
as ye see your day approaching, that ye may be 
found of your holy and impartial Judge in peace^ 
without spot and blameless. 

Ye also,, my younger hearers, have, in this late 
melancholy event, another striking instance pre- 
sented to you, that neither an early age, nor 
a useful life can preserve from the grave. Im- 
prove by the lesson which is thus read to you, 
I cannot wish better, either for yourselves or 
for society, than that you may resemble our de- 
parted friend in his reverence for the Supreme 



462 Sermon on the Death, &c. 

Being, in his irreproachable, his excellent con- 
duct 3 and his unweared zeal in the service of 
others. I cannot wish better, either for your- 
selves or for those who are interested in your 
happiness, than that, in the hour of sickness and 
of death, you may display the same unruffled sere- 
nity and composure, leave behind you as fair a 
claim to grateful and pleasing remembrance, and 
share with him in that eternal reward, which I 
doubt not he is now enjoying, or will finally re- 
ceive in a world, where the voice of mourning 
shall be changed into the voice of gladness, and 
all our sorrow be turned into endless joy. 



APPENDIX, 



. Robert Cappe, the youngest Son of the 
late Rev. New-come Cappe, was born on the first 
of January, 1772. In the succeeding year he had 
the misfortune to lose his Mother, who died of a 
consumption, and from her he appears to have 
inherited the same fatal complaint. 

Having made a considerable progress in clas- 
sical literature, under the care of his learned 
father; he went to Leeds in the year 1790, in 
order to be a pupil at the Infirmary, and here 
he received considerable assistance from Air. 
Logan, a very eminent Surgeon of that town. 
When he had subdued the painful sensations 
which every young practitioner must feel upon 
the first sight of those surgical operations, which 
the accidents of a manufacturing life, so fre- 
quently render necessary, he soon gave the most 
striking indications of future eminence. Young 
and inexperienced as he was, he frequently dis- 



464 Appendix* 

covered such judgment and skill, as excited the 
admiration of the other attendants, and the ten- 
derness and sympathy which he manifested to 
the patients, gained their esteem and affection. 
He had not been in Leeds one year, when the 
death of his eldest brother, who had lately gra- 
duated at Leyden, and had just settled in York, 
as a physician, with a prospect of success com- 
mensurate with his extraordinary talents and 
profound knowledge, induced him to alter his 
purpose and, relinquishing the practice of surgery, 
to devote himself wholly to the study of medicine. 
In consequence of this he remained at home, till 
the autumn of the year 1792, adding under his 
father's direction to his classical acquirements, 
improving his general knowledge by private read-, 
ing, and affording to many of the neighbouring 
afflicted poor, the benefit of his advice, which 
seldom failed of success. In the month of Oc- 
tober he went to London, and spent the ensuing 
winter, in attending upon the lectures of some 
of the most eminent professors of the science of 
medicine in the metropolis. He was soon dis- 
tinguished for his unwearied application, his 
great abilities, and his rapid progress in every 
pursuit to which he directed his attention. The 



Memoirs of Robert Cappe, M. D, 465 

lecturers unanimously concurred in acknowledg- 
ing, that few had ever entered upon those pre- 
paratory studies with so large a portion of know- 
ledge; some of them voluntarily transmitted to 
his delighted family, the most flattering ac- 
counts of his zeal and attainments, and honoured 
him with many pleasing marks of the highest 
esteem, and of the most cordial affection. 

In the course of the winter, owing in a great 
measure to his unremitted exertions, he was 
seized with a low fever which for a long time 
threatened his life. Throughout the whole of 
this severe attack, he experienced the kind care 
and attention of Dr. Aikin, and other medical 
friends, by whose skill he was at length restored 
to his usual degree of health. 

The winter of the year 1793 also he passed in 
London, and during this period of his residence 
in the metropolis, he received a distinguishing 
mark of honour, a gold medal presented to him 
by the Lyceum Medicum Lo?idinense, as a reward 
for the best paper upon a subject which had been 
proposed for the consideration of the members. 

In the month of October, 1794, he became a 
student in the University of Edinburgh, where 
he soon attracted the notice of men of the highest 

Hh 



4 66 Memoirs of Robert Cappe, M. B. 

character and eminence. Soon after his arrival 
he was admitted a Member of the Royal Medi- 
cal Society, of which, during the whole of his 
residence in that renowned school of physic, he 
was one of the brightest ornaments. In the suc- 
ceeding year he was elected President of 
that Society, and in this very honourable 
station he acquitted himself with so much ability, 
that in the year following he was, without any 
solicitation on his part, again chosen to fill that 
office, a mark of respect which few besides 
himself ever received. Upon these three years of 
his life he was accustomed to reflect with the 
highest pleasure and satisfaction. Sedulously 
employed in those important studies, which were 
to enable him to gratify his benevolent incli- 
nations, in giving comfort to the afflicted, health 
to the sick, and ease to such as were in pain, 
enjoying uninterrupted opportunities of acquiring 
general and extensive information ; conversing 
with kindred minds, attracted by the same love 
of science to that resort of genius and of talents ; 
forming the purest and most lasting friendship, 
with virtuous and eminent persons; respected by 
the professors, beloved by a large circle of stu- 
dents, and blessed with as great a portion of 



Memoirs of Robert Cappe, M. D. 467 

health as he was permitted at any time to know ; 
he experienced a degree of happiness unequalied 
at any other period of his life, and of which he 
never spake but in terms of gratitude and de- 
light. Among those whose friendship he at this 
period enjoyed, were Dr. Woollcombe, of Ply- 
mouth, Dr. Marcet, Dr. De La Rive, both natives 
of Switzerland, the one now settled in London, 
the other in Geneva, and Dr. Bostock, of Liver- 
pool. The writer, judging from his own feelings, 
hopes it will not be displeasing to these gentle- 
men to be thus publicly mentioned as having 
shared in the affections of so excellent a person, 
whose friendship has been to him, for several 
years, the source of inexpressible pleasure. 

Having taken his degree with distinguished 
credit, in June 1797 *, he determined, previous 
to his settling in York, to spend a few months 
in London, both for the sake of qualifying him- 
self still more for the station he was about to fill, 
and also to enjoy the liberty of visiting distant 

* It is deserving of remark, that the subject of his Thesis was 
Hectic Fever, to which he knew himself subject, and to which he 
always expected to fall a victim. t( Hectica fere semper 
periculosissirrms morbus est. Quoties per se nascitur, toties fere 
medicina insanabilis." P. 35, 

H h 2 



46$ Memoirs of kobert Cappe 9 M. ft. 

friends ; an invaluable privilege from which those 
who are eminent in the profession of medicine 
are necessarily, to a very considerable degree, 
excluded. Returning to York early in the year 
1798, he was immediately confined by the 
measles, and the consequences of that disorder 
he appeared long to feel. 

From the reputation he had acquired while he 
Was pursuing his studies, from his well-known 
talents and acquirements, and from the success 
which had attended him in some cases amongst 
the poor that had fallen under his notice during 
the months he had spent in absence from Edin- 
burgh, the highest expectations were formed of 
his success* by those to whom he was known, 
when he began the practice of medicine in this 
City. All these were fully realized ; and it may 
be safely asserted, that few young physicians ever 
entered upon their profession under more favour- 
able auspices, or attained, in so short a space, to 
such high and deserved eminence. In the be- 
ginning of the year 1799, he was elected Physi- 
cian to the Dispensary, in the place of the late 
Dr. Beck with, to some part of whose practice 
he immediately succeeded, and his reputation 
increased from that time with almost unexampled 
rapidity* 



Memoirs of Robert Cappe, M. D. 469 

The important discovery of the Vaccine In- 
oculation, which, after much mature delibera- 
tion, and many .successful experiments, Dr, Jen- 
ner had communicated to the public in 1798, 
was in itself of so curious a nature, and in its 
tendency so salutary and important, that it could 
not fail to attract the peculiar attention of 
Dr. Cappe. Having, with the assistance of his 
friend Mr, E. Wallis, inoculated many children 
of the poor, and fully satisfied himself of its bene- 
ficial effects ; he published several very interesting 
and well written letters in the Yoik Herald, in 
the months of September and October, 1800, 
recommending a general attention to the means 
which, as it appeared to him, " Providence had 
put into our power of immediately checking the 
ravages of one of the most fatal plagues, and of 
entirely extirpating that scourge from the face of 
the earth." In consequence of these letters, sub- 
scriptions were immediately raised for the purpose 
of a' general inoculation, and the Physicians and 
Surgeons of the Dispensary offered their gra- 
tuitous services to the poor. 

In the midst of this career of usefulness anal 
honour, he lost his revered parent, who died 
pecember 24, 1800. The filial piety which he 

Hh 3 



470 Memoirs of Robert Cappe, M. D. 

displayed on that mournful occasion, was scarcely 
ever exceeded : with the most anxious solicitude 
did he watch by the dying pillow of his aged 
father ; and it was for a long time doubtful 
whether he would not be soon united to him in 
the grave. As the summer of 1801 advanced, 
his strength was greatly recruited, and he was 
able to perform the increasing duties of a labo- 
rious profession. In the course of that summer, 
upon the unexpected death of Dr. Fowler, he was 
chosen to succeed him as Physician to the Retreat, 
an Asylum established in the neighbourhood of 
York, by the Society of Friends, for the reception 
of insane persons belonging to their body. The 
mildness of his temper, and the gentleness of his 
manners, accorded with that kind and soothing 
treatment, which it is one peculiar object of that 
excellent institution to use towards the unfor- 
tunate persons who are admitted there, and 
which appears to have been productive of the 
greatest success. 

The reputation of his talents was now soon 
diffused beyond the precincts of York, and he 
was rapidly advancing to a degree of eminence, 
highly pleasing to his friends, and useful to the 
public. But alas 1 in the midst of all his well- 



Memoirs of Robert Cappe, M. B, 47 1 

earned fame, the complaint to which he had 
been born, was advancing with equal rapidity, 
and preparing a speedy dissolution of all the 
flattering hopes that had been raised by his 
zeal and attainments. The winter of 1801 was 
marked by many severe and trying changes in the 
weather, and protracted to an unusual length in 
the succeeding year. Called, by the duties of his 
profession, to a distance from home, and in some of 
the coldest nights, 6( he suffered much," to use his 
own words, *■ and soon found his lungs greatly in- 
jured." In an account drawn up by himself, of 
the progress of his complaints, from the earliest 
period of his life, for the inspection of some me- 
dical friends, whose advice he was desirous of 
receiving, previous to his determining to try a 
change of climate, he says, " In March (1802) 
I ceased, from necessity, to ride on horseback ; 
had most of the symptoms of hectic fever ; was 
seldom able to use the bath, from want of 
strength to accomplish that exertion, and others 
that I could not so easily avoid. About May 
the weather became milder, though still unlike 
the usual weather of that season $ I became 
stronger, and my friends congratulated me on 
recovering my health. Since that time I have 

Hh 4 



472 Memoirs cf Robert Cappe, M. D. 

continued apparently better; but I was con- 
vinced that my most serious complaint was in- 
creasing." Of this his friends also were soon 
convinced, and they became urgent in advising 
him to spend the ensuing winter in a warmer 
climate. Mrs. Cappe, the widow of his father, 
was particularly solicitous, that what appeared 
the only chance of prolonging an important 
life, should be tried. Ever since she had be- 
come a member of his father's family, she had 
evinced towards his children all the affection of 
a mother : their interests were, in every respect, 
her interests; and their comfort and welfare 
were the objects of her constant zeal. To her 
solicitations he returned the following answer . 

" My Dear Mother, July 23, 1802. 

*' Your unremitting and affectionate attention to the happiness 
and welfare of our whole family, and of all connected with us, 
has long made me regard you with the real love and affection of 
a son. Your tender care of my Father, in his declining years, 
filled me with more than sentiments of admiration and gratitude; 
and now, when I feel some of that care transferred to mjseJf, I 
can only tell you, my dear Mother, that I feel it with great emo- 
tion. I have thought much, and seriously of the propriety of re- 
moving to a warmer climate. I confess my expectation from 
such a change is not great ; but I do not allow myself to decide 
on an affair of so much importance, when my feelings and my 



Memoirs of Robert Cappe, M. D, 473 

judgment do not support each other. Y©ur scheme, were it 
practicable, removes some of my reluctances ; but still imper- 
fectly. — I foresee that I must relinquish my profession next winter, 
if I stay at home; but that would be a little sacrifice, compared 
with leaving my country and all I love, with little hope of return* 
iDg to them. I am not decided : in duty to myself and others, I 
do not intend to allow myself to decide, unless the circumstance 
which should direct the judgment, become more evident than 
they are at present. I have already desired Mr. Mather to send 
an account of my health to Dr. Willan, that he may have an ac- 
count unbiassed by what my own feelings might suggest ; on his 
iudgment, and on that of my other medical friends, I have great 
reliance ; and I believe I shall be disposed to act in submission to 
it ; even though it should counteract my own judgment, not less 
than my inclinations. 

<5 Farewell, 
I arn, 

" And ever shall be, 
" Most affectionately yours, 

k R. C* 

In consequence of the decided opinion of many- 
medical friends, it was determined that he should 
spend the winter in the south of Europe, and 
Italy was chosen, as in every respect the most 
eligible. His two unmarried sisters resolved to 
accompany him., and Mrs. Cappe informed him 
of the resolution. Upon this subject he thus 
expresses himself, in a letter dated September 4, 



474 Memoirs of Robert Coppe, M. B. 

** My Dear Mother, 

You cannot doubt that I am in the highest degree grateful 
to you for procuring me, Mary and Anne's company in my ab- 
sence from home. It will, indeed, be a source of great comfort 
to me, and though I accept their affectionate offer with joy, I 
never should have permitted myself to ask them to sacrifice their 
comfort, and hazard their safety, in a long and harassing 
voyage."— 

In this letter after some observations upon pe- 
cuniary concerns, he adds, 

** If I recover, I shall return with gratitude and joy to my 
duties here, and hope by diligence and frugal care, I may be ena- 
bled to pay the debt that sickness compels me to incur ;t— if it be 
otherwise, I hope I shall never be deserted by a cheerful submis- 
sion to the will of God. It is a consolation to me, that my pro- 
perty may prevent my being, in my last sickness, a pecuniary 
burthen to those I dearly love." 

The following extract from a note which Mrs. 
Cappe received from him about the 14th of Sep- 
tember, will afford a very pleasing picture of 
his mind, at this very interesting and important 
period : 

" I have tried not to deceive myself; I have made no sacrifice. 
I have relinquished labour and care, to which I had not equal 
strength, for rest and leisure, I have given up the profits of a lu- 
crative profession only a few weeks before they, in all human pro- 
bability, if I had aimed at retaining them, would have been taken 



Memoirs of Robert Cappe > M. D. 475 

away from me for ever. I have seized a chance of again opening 
my eyes on a pleasing prospect of comfort, reputation, and mo- 
derate wealth. I have done what I believed my duty, and I am 
happy and contented. I feel sincerely for your loss of much com- 
fort in Mary and Anne; but I tell you truly, I am not anxious 
about you, you cannot be anxious about yourself ; I know your 
time will never be dreary or long. 

" Will you give me a copy of your Memoirs *. I do not like to 
tear it from my copy of the work, and to take the two volumes 
into a country full of dark suspicions would be unwise. Pray 
lend me the Sermons you quote so often. It is not the first time 
that the apparently near approach of death has convinced me 
they contain a faithful picture of my Father's mind. It is true, 
every thing unimportant is stripped of its power to deceive ; but 
what really deserves esteem and affection has acquired a warmer 
and a purer interest. — Farewell. 

An apprehension had been felt by many, that 
the voyage now resolved upon, would be under- 
taken too late, and that his complaint had pro- 
ceeded so far, as to forbid every hope of benefit, 
even from change of climate. Such fears were 
expressed to Mrs. Cappe, by several friends, 
some of whom were of the medical profession ; 
these, with a full persuasion of his judgment 
and of his fortiude, she communicated to Dr. 
Cappe, and received in reply a letter dated 
September 16, of which the following formed a 
part : 

* Memoirs of the Rev. N. Cappe, republished in the present 
Volume, — Edit. 



476 Memoirs of Robert Cappe, M. D. 

ee I am very much gratified by the interest my friend^ so 
■warmly and kindly feel for me. I wish I could remove their 
anxieties. I will do whatever I can, and perhaps it may have 
some influence on them, to know, that I have indeed no anxiety 
about myself ; it is not from indifference, but from full conviction 
that my decision was made with due attention to every objection 
that could arise against a long voyage; for, in every state of my 
deliberation, ray feelings opposed my judgment. I have put my- 
self under the direction of those medical friends to whom I would 
commit my dearest friends with most confidence; it is a change 
in their opinion only that can change my intention. Difficulties 
and inconveniences I know I must encounter, but I hope I shall 
bear them with resolution, I do not think it probable that the 
inconveniences of a voyage, which an invalid may perhaps be ex- 
cused cailing hardships, will tend to shorten my days ; the voy- 
age, if in fine weather, offers some hope of relief from my com? 
plaints ; and to escape a cold winter, is to retreat before a deter- 
termined and implacable enemy. Whatever the event, the object 
seems right, and I am content. 

His resolution being thus fixed, on the 23d 
of September he and his two sisters left York, 
and proceeded by very short and easy journeys 
to Liverpool. Though he had been for many 
weeks incapable of attending to the duties of his 
profession, yet the moment of his departure ex- 
cited greater and more general grief than had 
before been expressed. Many a tearful eye fol- 
lowed the carriage in which he was borne for 
ever from the scene in which he had been so 

. , .• - .... .. 



Memoirs of Robert Cappe, M. D* 471 

usefully engaged ; many a sincere aspiration rose 
to heaven for his restoration to health, to his fa- 
mily, and his friends, The all-wise and bene- 
volent Disposer of his creatures had ordained it 
otherwise, and he had now received our last em- 
braces. 

Soon after his departure, the surgeons, and 
others of the medical profession in York, with a 
liberality and feeling which are highly honour- 
able, transmitted to him the following address : ■' 

" Dear Sir, 

" It is with sentiments of deep regret, that we have witnessed 
the impaired state of your health, and we now lament the necessity 
imposed upon you, of removing, for a time, to another climate. 

" Under circumstances so very painful, it may be some allevia- 
tion to know the impression your character has left on the minds 
of those who, from their situation, are best able to appreciate your 
merits. 

" Permit us, therefore, to express the high sense we entertain 
of your professional acquirements, and of the impartial and liberal 
manner in which you have conducted your practice. 

*< Accept, dear Sir, our most ardent wishes, that you may be 
soon restored to us in the possession of such a share of health, as 
may enable you to resume those duties, which you have exercised 
with so much benefit to others, and credit to yourself." 

( Signed, fye.) 



478 Memoirs of Robert Cappe, M. D. 

It is needless to observe that this afforded him 
the purest gratification, but he was too weak to 
do more than acknowledge the receipt of it to 
his friend Mr. E. Wallis, and to add the hope of 
being able, upon his expected return of strength, 
fully to express the grateful sensations it had 
afforded him. 

The vessel being now ready for sea, he em- 
barked, October 14th, with much cheerfulness. 
During the few days which he spent in Liver- 
pool, he appears to have gained strength, and 
Dr. Currie and others, thought there was reason 
to expect a favourable termination of the only 
experiment which could, with any prospect of 
success, be tried. On the third day, however, 
after the vessel had sailed, all hope vanished.— 
From that day he never rose from his bed ; and 
every hour saw his gradual decay. From him- 
self hope seems never to have fled : He assured 
his sisters, on the day before his death, in a man- 
ner which leaves no room to suppose, that he 
thought otherwise than he said, that he had no 
reason to expect a speedy dissolution, and that 
he looked forward with much confidence to the 
renewal of his health. Still he expressed the 
most pious resignation to the will of the Supreme 



Memoirs of Robert Cappe, M. D. 479 

Being, and his thankfulness even for the affliction 
he had endured, as it had been the means of pre- 
paring his mind for whatever might be the event. 
For himself he was, as he always had been, with- 
out anxiety ; all his concerns related to them to 
whose kindness he was so much indebted, and 
whose situation he feared would be in the highest 
degree distressing, should he, contrary to his ex- 
pectations, be separated from them at that dis- 
tance from their home* 

To that distressing situation they were soon 
afterwards reduced. On the following day, 
November 16, six days before the vessel reached 
Leghorn, their fears were painfully realized, and 
their beloved brother breathed his last in their 
arms. 

To those who knew him, it will be needless to 
observe that his death will long continue the sub- 
ject of sincere and general sorrow ; to others, 
who may chance to obtain all their knowledge 
of him from these imperfect pages, it cannot, it is 
hoped, fail to be evident, that sincere and general 
sorrow is a tribute justly due to his talents and 
his virtues. Eminently skilful and affectionate in 
the duties of his important station, warmed with 
the purest benevolence to the afflicted poor ; 



480 Memoirs of Robert Cappe, M. D. 

liberal and delicate in his conduct toward those 
of the same profession ; endowed with all the 
qualities which are requisite to the purest affec- 
tion and the most ardent friendship, his loss will 
be long and deeply felt; and his memory will be 
had™ lasting and pleasing remembrance. 



THE- END* 



Printed at the Office of 
T. WI LSON and R. S P E N C E 9 
H^ti-Oulcgals, York. 



